L       N 


TuE      TALE  OF  THE  FAR  WEST. 


BY 


I        GUSTAYE   AIMARD, 

f      AUTHOR  OP  "  THE  PRAIRIE  FLOWER,"  "  THE  INDIAN  SCOUT,"  "  PIRATES  OF  THE 

PRAIRIES,"  "  THE   TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER,"    "  THE    TIGER    SLAYER,"   "  THE 

GOLD    SEEKERS,"    "THE    INDIAN    CHIEF,"    "THE    BORDER    RIFLES," 

"THE  FREEBOOTERS,"  "THE  WHITE  SCALPER,"  "  THE  TRAPPERS 

OF  THE    ARKANSAS,"  "THE  CHIEF  OF  THE    AUCAS,"  "THE 

RED  TRACK,"  "THE  LAST  OF  THE  INC  AS,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


nc 

COMPLETE   AND    UNABRIDGED    EDITION, 


J)f)Ua&elpf)ia: 

T.   B.   PETERSON    &    BROTHERS; 

306    CHESTNUT    STREET. 


A^s 


PZs 


s 


~ 


f 


THE  present  volume  of  Aimard's  Indian  Tales  is  devoted  to  the 
earlier  adventures  of  those  hunters,  whose  acquaintance  the  reader 
has  formed,  I  trust  with  pleasure,  in  the  preceding  series.  It 
does  not  become  me  to  say  any  thing  further  in  its  favor,  than  that 
die  sustained  interest  of  the  narrative,  which  has  been  regarded  as 
the  charm  of  stories  referring  to  life  in  the  desert  and  prairie,  has 
r.ot  been  departed  from  in  this  instance.  The  stories  themselves 
biipply  an  innate  proof  of  the  writer's  correctness  to  Nature, 
and,  in  truth,  many  of  the  scenes  are  so  startling  that  they  must 
be  the  result  of  personal  observation. 

In  conclusion,  I  may  be  permitted  to  thank  the  Press  gene 
rally  for  the  kindly  aid  they  have  afforded  me  in  making  the 
English  translation  of  Aimard's  volumes  known  to  the  British  readino- 

.  o 

public,  the  hearty  way  in  which  they  have   recognized  the 

3  of  the  previous  series.  It  would  be  an  easy  task  to  col 
lect  paragraphs,  expressing  a  belief  that  Aimard  is  second  to 
none  of  the  writers  who  have  hitherto  described  Indian  life  and 
scenery;  but  I  prefer  to  rest  my  hopes  of  success  on  the  inhe 
rent  qualities  of  his  stories. 

LASCELLES  WKAXALL. 

(15) 


CONTENTS, 


I.— The  Virgin  Forest 19 

II.— The  Contest 22 

III.— Don  Miguel  Zarate 25 

IV.— The  Peccaris 27 

V.— The  Wound 30 

VI— The  Squatter's  Shanty 34 

VII.— The  Rangers 37 

VIII. —The  Valley  of  the  Buffalo 40 

IX. — The  Assassination 43 

X.— The  Sachem  of  the  Coras 47 

XI. — Conversation 50 

XII.— El  Meson 53 

XIII.— Red  Cedar 57 

XIV.— The  Two  Hunters 61 

XV.— Fray  Ambrosio 64 

XVI.— Two  Varieties  of  Villains 67 

XVII.— El  Canon  Del  Buitre 70 

XVIII.— Father  Seraphin 74 

•XIX.— Unicorn 77 

XX.— The  Hunt  of  Wild  Horses ., 81 

XXI.— The  Surprise 84 

XXII— The  Meeting 88 

XXIII. —The  Abduction 92 

XXIV.— The  Revolt 95 

XXV — El  Rancho  del  Coyote 98 

(17) 


18  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  pAOg 

XXVI.—The  Cuchillada '. 102 

XXVIL— The  Hunters 105 

XXVIIL— Sunbeam 108 

XXIX.— The  Adoption -112 

XXX. — The  Missionary 115 

XXXI.— The  Interview 118 

XXXII.—  The  Prison 121 

XXXIIL— The  Embassy 124 

XXXIY.— The  Presentation 127 

XXXV.— Psychological 129 

XXXVI.— Diamond  Cut  Diamond 131 

XXXVII.— A  Stormy  Discussion 135 

XXXVIII.— The  Mystery 138 

XXXIX.— The  Ambuscade 141 

XL. — A  Friendly  Discussion 143 

XLL— Nathan 146 

XLIL— The  Wounded   Man 149 

XLIII. — Indian  Diplomacy 151 

XLIV.— The  Stranger 154 

XLV.— General  Ventura 157 

XLVL— The  Comanches 160 

XL  VII. —Negotiations 162 

XLVIII.—  Free 164 

XLIX.— The  Meeting 167 

L.— Dona  Clara HO 

LI.— El  Vado  delToro 173 


THE  TRAIL-HUNTER. 


BY   GUST  A  YE   AIMARD. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE     VIRGIN     FOREST. 

IN  Mexico  the  population  is  only  di 
vided  into  two  classes,  the  upper  and 
the  lower.  There  is  no  intermediate 
rank  to  connect  the  two  extremes,  and 
this  is  the  cause  of  the  two  hundred  and 
thirty-nine  revolutions  which  have  over 
thrown  this  country  since  the  declara 
tion  of  its  independence.  Why  this  is 
50  is  simple  enough.  The  intellectual 
.power  is  in  the  hands  of  a  small  num 
ber,  and  all  the  revolutions  are  effected 
by  this  turbulent  and  ambitious  mi 
nority  ;  whence  it  results  that  the  coun 
try  is  governed  by  the  most  complete 
^military  despotism,  instead  of  being  a 
'free  republic. 

Still  the  inhabitants  of  the  States  of 
Sonora,  Chihuahua,  and  Texas  have  re 
tained,  even  to  the  present  day,  that 
stern,  savage,  and  energetic  physiogno 
my  which  may  be  sought  in  vain  among 
the  other  States  of  the  Confederation. 

Beneath  a  sky  colder  than  that  of 
Mexico,  the  winter,  which  frequently 
covers  the  rivers  of  the  region  with  a 
thick  layer  of  ice,  hardens  the  muscles 
of  the  inhabitants,  cleanses  their  blood, 
purifies  their  hearts,  and  renders  them 
19 


picked  men,  who  are  distinguished  for 
their  courage,  their  intelligence,  and 
their  profound  love  of  liberty. 

The  Apaches,  who  originally  inhabi 
ted  the  greater  portion  of  New  Mexico, 
have  gradually  fallen  back  before  the 
axe  of  the  pioneers  ;  and  after  retiring 
into  the  immense  deserts  that  cover  the 
triangle  formed  by  the  Rio  Gila,  the 
Del  Norte,  and  the  Colorado,  they  ra 
vage  almost  with  impunity  the  Mexican 
frontiers,  plundering,  firing,  and  devas 
tating  all  they  meet  with  on  their  pas 
sage. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  countries  we 
alluded  to  above,  held  in  respect  by 
these  ever-shifting  savages,  are  in  a  state 
of  continual  warfare  with  them,  always 
ready  to  fight,  fortifying  their  haciendas, 
and  only  travelling  with  weapons  in 
their  hands. 

El  Paso  del  Norte  may  be  regarded 
as  the  outpost  of  the  civilized  portion 
of  Mexico.  Beyond  that,  to  the  north 
and  north-west,  extend  the  vast  until i- 
ed  plains  of  Chihuahua,  the  bolson  of 
Mapimi,  and  the  arid  deserts  of  the  Rio 
Gila.  These  immense  deserts,  known 
by  the  name  of  Apacheria,  are  still  as 
little  investigated  as  they  were  at  the 
close  of  the  eighteenth  century.  El 
Paso  del  Norte  owes  its  name  to  its 


2U 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


situation  near  a  ford  of  the  Rio  Del 
Norte.  It  is  the  oldest  of  all  the 
New  Mexican  settlements,  and  its  esta 
blishment  dates  back  to  the  close  of  the 
sixteenth  century.  The  present  settle 
ment  is  scattered  for  a  distance  of  about 
ten  miles  along  the  banks  of  the  Del 
Norte,  and  contains  four  thousand  in- 
.  habitants  at  the  most.  The  plaza,  or 
village  of  the  Paso,  is  situated  at  the 
head  of  the  valley  :  at  the  other  extre 
mity  is  the  Presidio  of  San  Elezario. 
All  the  interval  is  occupied  by  a  con 
tinuous  line  of  white,  flat-roofed  houses, 
buried  in  gardens,  and  surrounded  by 
vineyards.  About  a  mile  above  the 
ford  the  stream  is  dammed  up,  and  led 
by  a  canal  into  the  valley,  which  it 
waters.  Apacheria  begins  only  a  few 
miles  from  this  settlement. 

It  is  easily  seen  that  the  foot  of  civi 
lized  man  has  only  trodden  timidly  and 
at  rare  intervals  this  thoroughly  primi 
tive  country,  in  which  nature,  free  to 
develope  herself  under  the  omnipotent 
eye  of  the  creator,  assumes  an  aspect 
of  incredible  beauty  and  fancifulness. 

On  a  lovely  morning  in  the  month  of 
May,  which  the  Indians  call  "  the  moon 
of  the  flowers,"  a  man  of  high  stature, 
with  harsh  and  marked  features,  mount 
ed  on  a  tall,  half-tamed  steed,  started  at 
a  canter  from  the  plaza,  and  after  a  few 
minutes  of  hesitation,  employed  in  re 
alising  his  position,  resolutely  buried 
his  spurs  in  the  horse's  flanks,  crossed 
the  ford,  and  after  leaving  behind  him 
the  numerous  cotton-wood  trees  which 
at  this  spot  cover  the  river  banks,  pro 
ceeded  toward  the  dense  forest  that 
flashed  on  the  horizon. 

This  horseman  was  dressed  in  the 
costume  generally  adopted  on  the  fron 
tiers,  and  which  was  so  picturesque  that 
we  will  give  a  short  description  of  it. 
The  stranger  wore  a  pelisse  of  green 
cloth,  embroidered  with  silver,  allow 
ing  a  glimpse  of  an  elegantly-worked 
shirt,  the  collar  of  which  was  fastened 
by  a  loosely-knotted  black  silk  handker 
chief,  the  ends  passed  through  a  dia 
mond  ring.  He  wore  green  cloth  breech 
es,  -trimmed  with  silver,  and  two 
rows  of  buttons  of  the  same  metal,  and 
fastened  round  the  hips  by  a  red  silken 
scarf  with  gold  fringe.  The  breeches, 


open  on  the  side  half  way  up  the  thigh, 
displayed  his  fine  linen  drawers  be 
neath  :  his  legs  were  defended  by  a 
strip  of  brown  embossed  and  stamped 
leather,  called  botas  vaqueras,  attached 
below  the  knee  by  a  silver  garter.  On 
his  heels  enormous  spurs  clanked.  A 
manga,  glistening  with  gold,  and  drawn 
up  on  the  shoulder,  protected  the  upper 
part  of  his  body,  while  his  head  was 
sheltered  from  the  burning  sunbeams 
by  a  broad-leafed  hat  of  brown  stamped 
felt,  the  crown  of  which  was  contracted 
by  a  large  silver  toquilla  passed  twice 
or  thrice  round  it. 

His  steed  was  caparisoned  with 
graceful  luxuriousness,  which  heighten 
ed  all  its  beautiful  points  :  a  rich  saddle 
of  embossed  leather,  adorned  with  mas 
sive  silver,  on  the  back  of  which  the 
zarape  was  fastened  ;  wide  Moorish  sil 
ver  stirrups,  and  handsome  water 
bottles  at  the  saddle-bow  ;  while  an 
elegant  anquera,  made  of  open-work 
leather,  and  decorated  with  small  steel 
chains,  entirely  covered  the  horse's 
croup,  and  sparkled  with  its  slightest 
movement. 

The  stranger  appeared,  judging  from 
the  luxury  he  displayed,  to  belong  to 
the  high  class  of  society.  A  machete 
hung  down  his  right  side,  two  pistols 
were  passed  through  his  girdle,  the 
handle  of  a  long  knife  protruded  from 
his  right  boot,  and  he  held  a  superbly 
damascened  rifle  across  the  saddle  in 
front  of  him. 

Bending  over  the  neck  of  his  gallop 
ing  steed,  he  advanced  rapidly  without 
looking  round  him,  although  the  land 
scape  that  lay  extended  before  him  was 
one  of  the  most  attractive  and  majestic 
in  those  regions. 

The  river  formed  the  most  capricious 
windings  in  the  centre  of  a  terrain  di 
versified  in  a  thousand  strange  ways. 
Here  and  there  on  the  sandy  banks 
enormous  trees  might  be  seen  lying, 
which,  dried  up  by  the  sun,  evidenced, 
in  their  washed-out  appearance,  that 
they  had  been  dead  for  centuries.  Near 
the  shallow  and  marshy  spots,  caymans 
and  alligatoi-s  wandered  about  awk 
wardly.  At  other  places,  where  the 
river  ran  almost  straight,  its  banks  were 
uniform,  and  covered  with  tall  trees, 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


21 


round  which  creepers  had  twined,  and 
then  struck  root  in  the  ground  again, 
thus  forming  the  most  inextricable  con 
fusion.  Here  and  there  small  clearings 
or  marshy  spots  might  be  detected  in 
the  midst  of  the  dense  wood,  often  piled 
up  with  trees  that  had  died  of  old  age. 
Further  on,  other  trees,  which  seemed 
still  young,  iudging  from  their  color 
and  the  solidity  of  their  bark,  fell  into 
dust  with  the  slightest  breath  of  wind. 

At  times,  the  earth,  entirely  under 
mined  beneath,  drawn  down  by  its  own 
weight,  dragged  with  it  the  wood  which 
it  bore,  and  produced  a  crashing,  con 
fused  sound,  which  was  returned  on  all 
sides  by  the  echo,  and  possessed  a  cer 
tain  degree  of  grandeur  in  this  desert, 
whose  depths  no  man  has  ever  yet  ven 
tured  to  scrutinise. 

Still  the  stranger  galloped  on,  with 
his  eye  ardently  fixed  before  him,  and 
not  appearing  to  see  anything.  Several 
hours  passed  thus:  the  horseman  buried 
himself  deeper  in  the  forest.  He  had 
left  the  banks  of  the  river,  and  only 
progressed  with  extreme  difficulty, 
through  the  entanglement  of  branches, 
grass,  and  shrubs,  which  at  every  step 
arrested  his  movements,  and  forced  him 
to  make  innumerable  turnings.  He 
merely  reined  in  his  horse  now  and 
then,  took  a  glance  at  the  sky,  and  then 
started  again,  muttering  to  himself  but 
one.  word  : 

"  Adelante  !  (Forward  !)" 

At  length  he  stopped  in  a  vast  clear 
ing,  took  a  suspicious  glance  around 
him,  and  probably  reassured  by  the 
leaden  silence  which  weighed  on  the 
desert,  he  dismounted,  hobbled  his 
horse,  and  took  off  its  bridle  that  it 
might  browse  on  the  young  tree-shoots. 
This  duty  accomplished,  he  carelessly 
lay  down  on  the  ground,  rolled  a  maize 
cigarette  in  his  fingers,  produced  a  gold 
mechero  from  his  waist-belt,  and  struck 
u  light. 

The  clearing  was  of  considerable  ex 
tent.  On  one  side  the  eye  could  survey 
with  ease,  through  the  trees,  the  widely- 
extending  prairie,  on  which  deer  were 
browsing  with  security.  On  the  other 
side,  the  forest,  wilder  than  ever, 
seemed,  on  the  contrary,  an  impassable 
wall  of  verdure.  All  was  abrupt  and 


primitive  at  this  spot,  which  the  foot 
of  man  had  so  rarely  trodden.  Certain 
trees,  either  entirely  or  partially  dried 
up,  offered  the  vigorous  remains  of  a 
rich  and  fertile  soil ;  others,  equally 
ancient,  were  sustained  by  the  twisted 
creepers,  which  in  the  course  of  time 
almost  equalled  their  original  support 
in  size  :  the  diversity  of  the  leaves  pro 
duced  the  strangest  possible  mixture. 
Others,  containing  in  their  hollow  trunk 
a  manure  which,  formed  of  the  remains 
of  their  leaves  and  half-dead  branches, 
had  warmed  the  seeds  they  had  let  fall, 
and  offered,  in  the  young  shoots  they 
contained,  some  compensation  for  the 
loss  of  their  father  tree. 

Jn  the  prairies,  nature,  ever  provi 
dent,  seems '  to  have  been  desirous  to 
shelter  from  the  insults  of  time  certain 
old  trees,  patriarchs  of  the  forest  which 
are  crushed  beneath  the  weight  of  ages, 
by  forming  them  a  cloak  of  greyish 
moss,  which  hangs  in  festoons  from  the 
highest  branches  to  the  ground,  assum 
ing  the  wildest  and  most  fantastic 
shapes. 

The  stranger,  lying  on  his  back,  with 
his  head  resting  on  his  two  crossed 
hands,  was  smoking  with  that  beatitude, 
full  of  ease  and  sloth,  which  is  peculiar 
to  the  Hispano-Americans.  He  only 
interrupted  this  gentle  occupation  to 
roll  a  fresh  cigarette  and  cast  a  glance 
around,  while  muttering: 

"  Hum  !  he  keeps  me  waiting  a  long 
time.'' 

He  emitted  a  puff  of  bluish  smoke, 
aud  resumed  his  first  position.  Several 
hours  passed  thus.  Suddenly,  a  rather 
loud  rustling  was  heard  in  the  thicket, 
some  distance  behind  the  stranger. 

"  Ah,  ah  !"  he  said,  "  I  fancy  my  man 
is  coming  at  last." 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  sound  became 
louder,  and  rapidly  approached. 

"  Come  on,  hang-  it !"  the  horseman 
shouted,  as  he  rose.  *'  By  our  Lady  of 
Pilar !  you  have  surely  been  keeping 
me  waiting  long  enough." 

Nothing  appeared :  the  clearing  was 
still  deserted,  although  the  sound  had 
attained  a  certain  degree  of  intensity. 
The  stranger,  surprised  at  the  obstinate 
silence  of  the  man  he  was  addressing, 
and  specially  by  his  continuing  not  to 


22 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


show  himself,  at  length  rose  to  see  for 
himself  the  reason.  At  this  moment, 
his  horse  pricked  up  its  ears,  snorted 
violently,  and  made  a  sudden  effort  to 
free  itself  from  the  lasso  that  held  it; 
but  our  new  acquaintance  rushed  toward 
it  and  patted  it.  The  horse  trembled 
all  over,  and  made  prodigious  bounds 
in  order  to  escape.  The  stranger,  more 
and  more  surprised,  looked  round  for 
an  explanation  of  these  extraordinary 
movements,  and  was  soon  satisfied. 

Scarce  twenty  yards  from  him  a 
magnificent  jaguar,  with  a  splendidly- 
spotted  hide,  was  crouched  on  the  main 
branch  of  an  enormous  cypress,  and 
fixed  on  him  two  ferocious  eyes,  as  it 
passed  its  blood-red,  rugged  tongue  over 
its  lips  with  a  feline  pleasure. 

"  Ah,  ah  !"  the  stranger  said  to  him 
self  in  a  low  voice,  but  displaying  no 
further  excitement,  "  I  did  not  expect 
you  ;  but  no  matter,  you  are  welcome, 
comrade.  Carai  !  we  shall  have  a  fight 
for  it." 

Without  taking  his  eye  off  the  jaguar, 
he  convinced  himself  that  his  machete 
quitted  its  scabbard  readily,  picked  up 
his  rifle,  and,  after  these  precautions 
were  taken,  he  advanced  resolutely  to 
ward  the  ferocious  brute,  which  saw  him 
coming  without  changing  its  position. 
On  arriving  within  ten  yards  of  the 
jaguar,  the  stranger  threw  away  the 
cigarette  he  had  till  now  held  between 
his  lips,  shouldered  his  rifle,  and  put  his 
finger  on  the  trigger.  The  jaguar  drew 
itself  together  and  prepared  to  leap  for 
ward.  At  the  same  moment  a  hoarse 
yell  was  heard  from  the  opposite  side 
of  the  clearing. 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  the  stranger  said 
to  himself  with  a  smile;  "it  seems 
there  are  two  of  them,  and  I  fancied  I 
had  to  do  with  a  bachelor  jaguar.  This 
is  beginning  to  grow  interesting." 

And  he  threw  a  glance  on  one  side. 
He  had  not  deceived  himself:  a  second 
jaguar,  rather  larger  than  the  first,  had 
fixed  its  flashing  eyes  upou  him. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  CONTEST. 

THE  dwellers  on  the  Mexican  frontiers 
are  accustomed  to  fight  continually  with 
wild  animals,  both  men  and  brutes,  that 
iontinually  attack  them.  Hence  the 
stranger  was  but  slightly  affected  by 
the  unexpected  visit  of  the  two  jaguars. 
Although  his  position  between  his  two 
ferocious  enemies  was  somewhat  pre 
carious,  and  he  did  not  at  all  conceal 
from  himself  the  danger  he  ran  alone 
against  two,  he  did  not  the  less  resolve 
to  confront  them  bravely.  Not  taking 
his  eye  off  the  jaguar  he  had  first  seen, 
he  went  back  a  few  steps  obliquely,  so 
as  to  have  his  foes  nearly  opposite  him, 
instead  of  standing  between  them.  This 
manoeuvre,  which  demanded  some  little 
time,  succeeded  beyond  his  hopes.  The 
jaguars  watched  him,  licking  their  lips, 
and  passing  their  paws  behind  their  ears 
with  those  graceful  movements  peculiar 
to  the  feline  race.  The  two  wild  beasts, 
certain  of  their  prey,  seemed  to  be  play 
ing  with  it  and  not  over  eager  to  pounce 
on  it. 

While  keeping  his  eye  on  the  watch, 
the  Mexican  did  not  yield  to  any  treach 
erous  feeling  of  security  :  he  knew  that 
the  struggle  he  was  about  to  undertake 
was  a  supreme  one,  and  he  took  his 
precautions.  Jaguars  never  attack  a 
man  unless  forced  by  necessity ;  and 
the  latter  tried,  before  all,  to  seize  the 
horse.  The  noble  animal,  securely 
fastened  by  its  master,  exhausted  itself 
in  efforts  to  break  the  bonds  that  held 
it,  and  escape.  It  trembled  with  terror 
on  scenting  its  ferocious  enemies. 

The  stranger,  when  his  precautions 
were  completely  taken,  shouldered  his 
rifle  for  the  second  time.  At  this  mo 
ment  the  jaguars  raised  their  heads, 
while  laying  back  their  ears  and  snuffing 
anxiously.  An  almost  imperceptible 
sound  was  audible  in  the  bushes. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?"  the  Mexican 
asked  in  a  loud  voice. 

"  A  friend,  Don  Miguel  Zarate,"  was 
the  reply. 

"  Ah  !  it  is  Don  Valentine,"  the  Mex 
ican  continued.  "  You  have  arrived 
just  in  time  to  see  some  fine  sport." 


THE   TRAIL-HUNTER.1 


"  Ah,  ah  !"  the  man  who  had  alread) 
spoken  went  on.  "  Can  I  help  you  V 

"  It  is  useless ;  but  make  haste  if 
you  want  to  see." 

The  branches  were  sharply  drawn 
aside,  and  two  men  appear  in  the  clear 
ing.  At  the  sight  of  the  jaguars  they 
stopped,  not  through  alarm,  for  they 
quietly  placed  the  butts  of  their  rifle 
on  the  ground,  but  in  order  to  give  the 
hunter  every  facility  to  emerge  victori 
ously  from  his  rash  combat. 

The  jaguars  seemed  to  comprehend 
that  the  moment  for  action  had  arrived. 
As  if  by  one  accord,  they  drew  them 
selves  up  and  bounded  on  their  enemy. 
The  first,  struck  in  its  leap  by  a  bullet 
which  passed  through  its  right  eye, 
rolled  on  the  ground,  where  it  remained 
motionless.  The  second  was  received 
on  the  point  of  the  hunter's  machete, 
who  after  discharging  his  rifle,  had 
fallen  on  his  knee,  with  his  left  arm 
folded  in  his  blanket  in  front,  and  the 
machete  in  the  other  hand.  'The  man 
and  the  tiger  writhed  together  in  a 
deadly  embrace,  and  after  a  few  seconds 
only  one  of  the  adversaries  rose :  it 
was  the  man.  The  tiger  was  dead  : 
the  hunter's  machete,  guided  by  a  firm 
hand,  had  passed  right  through  its  heart. 

During  this  rapid  fight  the  new 
comers  had  not  made  a  sign,  but  re 
mained  stoical  spectators  of  all  that 
was  taking  place.  The  Mexican  rose, 
thrust  his  machete  in  the  grass  to  clean 
the  blade,  and  turning  coldly  to  the 
strangers,  said  : 

"  What  do  you  say  to  that  ?" 

"Splendidly  played,"  the  first  an 
swered  ;  "  it  is  one  of  the  best  double 
strokes  I  ever  saw  in  my  life." 

The  two  men  threw  their  rifles  on 
their  shoulders,  and  walked  up  to  the 
Mexican,  who  reloaded  his  piece  with 
as  much  coolness  and  tranquillity  as  if 
he  had  not  just  escaped  from  a  terrible 
danger  by  a  miracle  of  skill. 

The  sun  was  sinking  on  the  horizon, 
the  shadow  of  the  trees  assumpd  a  pro 
digious  length,  and  the  luminary  ap 
peared  like  a  ball  of  fire  amid  the  limpid 
azure  of  the  heavens.  The  night  would 
soon  arrive,  and  the  desert  was  awak 
ing.  On  all  sides  could  be  heard,  in 
the  gloomy  and  mysterious  depths  of 


the  virgin  forest,  the  hoarse  howling  of 
the  coyotes  and  the  other  wild  beasts, 
mingled  with  the  song  of  the  birds 
perched  on  all  the  branches.  The  desert, 
silent  and  gloomy  during  the  oppressive 
heat  of  the  day,  emerged  from  its  un 
healthy  torpor  on  the  approach  of  dark, 
and  was  preparing  to  resume  its  noc 
turnal  sports. 

The  three  men  in  the  clearing  col 
lected  dried  branches,  made  a  pile  of 
them  and  set  fire  to  it.  They  doubt 
lessly  intended  to  camp  for  a  portion 
of  the  night  at  this  spot.  So  soon  as 
the  flames  rose  joyously  skyward  in 
long  spirals,  the  two  strangers  produced 
from  their  game-bags  maize  tortillas, 
jerked  meat,  and  a  gourd  of  pulque. 
These  various  comestibles  were  com 
placently  spread  out  on  the  grass,  and 
the  three  men  began  a  hunter's  meal. 
When  the  gourd  had  gone  the  round 
several  times,  and  the  tortillas  had  dis 
appeared,  the  new  comers  lit  their  In 
dian  pipes,  and  the  Mexican  rolled  a 
papelito. 

Although  this  meal  had  been  short, 
it  lasted,  however,  long  enough  for 
night  to  have  completely  set  in  ere  it 
was  ended.  Perfect  darkness  brooded 
over  the  clearing,  the  ruddy  reflections 
of  the  fire  played  on  the  energetic  faces 
of  the  three  men,  and  give  them  a  fan 
tastic  appearance. 

"  And  now,"  the  Mexican  said,  after 
lighting  his  cigarette,  "  I  will,  with  your 
permission,  explain  to  you  why  I  was  • 
so  anxious  to  see  you." 

"  One  moment,"  one  of  the  hunters 
answered.  "You  know  that  in  the 
deserts  the  leaves  have  often  eyes,  and 
the  trees  ears.  If  I  am  not  mistaken 
in  your  hints,  you  invited  us  here  that 
our  interview  might  be  secret." 

"  In  truth,  I  have  the  greatest  interest 
n  nothing  of  what  is  said  here  being 
overheard,  or  even  suspected." 

"Very   good.     Curumilla,  to  work." 

The  second  hunter  rose,  seized  his 
ifle  and  disappeared  noiselessly  in  the 
loom.  His  absence  was  rather  long; 
out  as  long  as  it  lasted,  the  two  men 
eft  at  the  fire  did  not  exchange  a  sylla- 
)le.  In  about  half  an  hour  the  hunter 
eturned,  however,  and  seated  himself 
j  his  comrades'  side. 


24 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


"  Well  ?"  the  one  who  had  sent  him 
off  asked  him. 

"  My  brother  can  speak,"  he  replied 
laconically  ;  "  the  desert  is  quiet." 

On  this  assurance  the  three  men 
banished  all  anxiety.  Still  prudence 
did  not  abandoned  them  :  they  took  up 
their  pipes,  and  turned  their  backs  to 
^the  fire,  so  that  they  might  watch  the 
neighborhood  while  conversing. 

"  We  are  ready  to  listen  to  you,"  the 
first  hunter  said. 

"  Listen  to  me  with  the  greatest  at 
tention,"  the  Mexican  began  ;  "what  you 
are  about  to  hear  is  of  the  utmost  im 
portance." 

The  two  men  bowed  silently,  and 
the  Mexican  prepared  to  speak  again. 

Before  going  further  we  must  intro 
duce  to  the  reader  the  two  men  we 
have  just  brought  on  the  stage,  and  go 
back  a  few  paces  in  order  to  make  it 
perfectly  understood  why  Don  Miguel 
Zarate,  in  lieu  of  receiving  them  at  his 
own  house,  had  given  them  the  meeting 
in  the  heart  of  the  virgin  forest. 

The  two  hunters  seemed  at  the  first 
glance  to  be  Indians ;  but  on  examin 
ing  them  more  attentively,  you  could 
recognize  that  one  of  them  belonged  to 
those  white  trappers  whose  boldness 
has  become  proverbial  in  Mexico.  Their 
appearance  and  equipment  offered  a 
singular  medley  of  savage  and  civilized 
life.  Their  hair  was  of  a  remarkable 
length  ;  for  in  those  countries,  where  a 
man  is  frequently  only  fought  for  the 
glory  of  lifting  his  scalp,  it  is  consider 
ed  the  thing  to  wear  it  long  and  easy 
to  seize. 

The  hunters  had  their  hair  neatly 
plaited,  and  intertwined  with  beaver 
skins  and  bright  colored  ribbons.  The 
rest  of  their  garb  harmonized  with  this 
specimen  of  their  taste.  A  hunting 
shirt  of  bright  red  calico  fell  down  to 
their  knees;  gaiters  decorated  with 
woolen  ribbons  and  bells  surrounded 
their  legs  ;  and  their  feet  were  shod 
with  moccasins  embroidered  with  beads 
which  the  squaws  know  so  well  how  to 
make.  A  striped  blanket,  fastened 
round  the  hips  by  a  belt  of  tanned  deer- 
hide,  completed  their  clothing,  but  was 
not  so  closely  drawn  that  at  their  every 
movement  the  butt  of  the  pistols  and 


the  hilt  of  the  machetes  might  be  seen 
glistening.  As  for  their  rifles,  useless 
at  this  moment,  and  carelessly  thrown 
on  the  ground  by  their  side,  if  they  had 
been  stripped  of  the  plume-worked  elk- 
skin  that  covered  them,  it  would  have 
been  possible  to  see,  with  what  care 
their  owners  had  decorated  them  with 
copper  nails  painted  of  various  colors  ; 
for  all  about  these  two  men  bore  the 
imprint  of  Indian  habits. 

The  first  of  the  two  hunters  was  a 
man  of  thirty-eight  at  the  most,  tall 
and  well-built;  his  muscular  limbs  de 
noted  great  bodily  strength,  allied  to 
unequalled  lightness.  Although  he  af 
fected  all  the  manners  of  the  redskins, 
it  was  an  easy  matter  to  perceive  that 
he  not  only  belonged  to  the  unmixed 
white  race,  but  also  to  the  Norman  or 
Gaulish  type.  He  was  fair ;  his  large, 
blue  and  pensive  eyes,  adorned  with 
long  lashes,  had  an  expression  of  unde- 
finable  sadness  :  his  nose  was  slightly 
aquiline  ;  his  mouth  large,  and  filled 
with  teeth  of  dazzling  whiteness ;  a 
thick  chesnut  beard  covered  the  lower 
part  of  his  face,  which  revealed  gentle 
ness,  kindness,  and  courage  without 
boasting,  though  the  whole  were  com 
bined  with  a  will  of  iron. 

His  companion  evidently  belonged 
to  the  Indian  race,  all  the  characteristic 
signs  of  which  he  displayed ;  but, 
strange  to  say,  he  was  not  coppery  like 
the  American  aborigines  of  Texas  and 
North  America ;  and  his  skin  was 
brown  and  slightly  of  an  olive  hue.  He 
had  a  lofty  brow,  a  bent  nose,  small  but 
piercing  eyes,  a  large  mouth  and  square 
chin  ;  in  short,  he  presented  the  com 
plete  type  of  the  American  race,  which 
inhabits  a  limited  territory  in  the  South 
of  Chili.  This  hunter  had  round  his 
brow  a  purple-colored  fillet,  in  which 
was  thrust  over  the  right  ear  a  plume 
of  the  Andes  Eagle,  a  sign  which  serves 
to  distinguish  the  chiefs  of  the  Aucas. 
These  two  men,  whom  the  reader 
has  doubtless  already  recognized,  as 
hey  played  an  important  part  in  our 
previously  published  works*,  were  Val- 
ntine  Guillois,  an  ex-noncommissioned 
officer  in  the  Spahis,  and  Curumilla, 


*  » The  Chief  of  the  Aucas,"  "The  Tiger  Slayer," 
'  The  Gold  Finders,"  "  The  Indian  Chief" 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


25 


his  friend — Ulmen  ef  the  Great  Hare 
tribe. 

We  will  introduce  a  parenthesis  to 
explain  their  present  position,  and 
which  is  indispensable  for  a  right  under 
standing  of  what  follows.  The  moment 
is  capitally  selected,  by  the  way,  for 
opening  this  parenthesis  ;  for  the  three 
hunters  are  gaily  talking  round  their 
fire,  the  night  is  gloomy,  the  forest 
quiet,  and  it  does  not  appear  likely  that 
anything  will  arise  to  disturb  them. 


CHAPTER  III. 

DON   MIGUEL   ZARATK. 

WERE  Mexico  better  governed,  it 
would  be,  without  contradiction,  one  of 
the  richest  countries  on  the  face  of  the 
globe.  Indeed  the  largest  private  for 
tunes  must  still  be  sought  in  that  coun 
try.  Since  the  United  States  Ameri 
cans  have  revealed  to  the  world,  by 
seizing  one-half  of  Mexico,  whither 
their  ambition  tends,  the  inhabitants  of 
that  fine  country  have  slightly  emerged 
from  the  torpor  they  enjoyed,  and  have 
made  great  efforts  to  colonise  their  pro 
vinces,  and  summon  to  their  soil,  which 
is  so  rich  and  fertile,  intelligent  and  in 
dustrious  laborers,  who  might  change 
the  face  of  affairs,  and  cause  abundance 
and  wealth  to  abound  at  spots,  where, 
prior  to  their  arrival,  there  was  naught 
save  ruin,  desolation,  carelessness,  and 
misery. 

Unfortunately,  the  noble  efforts  made 
up  to  the  present  day  have,  through  an 
inexplicable  fatality,  remained  without 
result,  either  owing  to  the  natural  apa 
thy  of  the  inhabitants,  or  the  fault  of 
the  Mexican  Government  itself.  Still 
the  large  land-owners,  comprehending 
all  the  advantages  of  the  proposed  mea 
sure,  and  how  much  it  is  to  their  inter 
est  to  combat  the  deadly  influence  of 
the  American  invasions,  have  generous 
ly  devoted  themselves  to  the  realiza 
tion  cf  this  great  question  of  social  econ 
omy,  which,  unluckily  is  growing  more 
and  more  unrealisable. 

In  fact,  in  Northern  America  two 
hostile  races — the  Anglo-Saxon  and  the 


Spanish — stand  face  to  face.  The  An 
glo-Saxons  are  devoured  by  an  ardor 
for  conquest,  and  a  rage  for  invasion, 
which  nothing  can  arrest,  or  even  re 
tard.  It  is  impossible  to  see  without 
amazement  the  expansive  tendencies  of 
this  active  and  singular  people,  a  hete 
rogeneous  composite  of  all  the  races 
which  misery  or  evil  instincts  expelled 
from  Europe  originally,  and  which  feels 
restricted  in  the  immense  territory 
which  its  numerical  weakness  yet  pre 
vents  it  entirely  occupying. 

Imprisoned  within  its  vast  frontiers, 
making  a  right  of  strength,  it  is  contin 
ually  displacing  its  neighbors'  land 
marks,  and  encroaching  on  territory  of 
which  it  can  make  no  use.  Daily, 
bands  of  emigrants  abandon  their  dwell 
ings,  and  with  their  rifles  on  their  shoul 
ders,  their  axes  irf  their  hand,  they  pro 
ceed  south,  as  if  impelled  by  a  will 
stronger  than  themselves;  and  neither 
mountains,  deserts,  nor  virgin  forests 
are  sufficient  obstacles  to  make  them 
halt  even  for  an  instant.  The  Yankees 
imagine  themselves  generally  the  in 
struments  of  Providence,  and  appointed 
by  the  decrees  of  the  Omnipotent  to 
people  and  civilize  the  New  World. 
They  count  with  feverish  impatience 
the  hours  which  must  elapse  ere  the 
day  (close  at  hand  in  their  ideas)  ar 
rive  in  which  their  race  and  govern 
ment  system  will  occupy  the  entire 
space  contained  between  Cape  North 
and  the  Isthmus  of  Panama,  to  the  ex 
clusion  of  the  Spanish  republics  on  one 
side,  and  the  English  colonies  on  the 
other.  These  projects,  of  which  the 
Americans  make  no  mystery,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  openly  boast,  are  perfect 
ly  well  known  to  the  Mexicans,  who 
cordially  detest  their  neighbors,  and 
employ  all  the  means  in  their  power  to 
create  difficulties  for  them,  and  impede 
their  successive  encroachments. 

Among  the  New  Mexican  land-own 
ers  who  resolved  to  make  sacrifices  iu 
order  to  stop,  or  at  least  check,  the  im 
minent  invasion  from  North  America, 
the  richest,  and  possibly,  first  of  all, 
through  his  intelligence  and  the  in 
fluence  he  justly  enjoyed  in  the  coun 
try,  was  Don  Miguel  Acamarichtzin 
Zarate. 


26 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


Whatever  may  be  asserted,  the  In 
dian  population  of  Mexico  is  nearly 
double  in  number  to  the  white  men,  and 
possesses  an  enormous  influence.  Don 
Miguel  descended  in  a  straight  line  from 
Acamarichtzin,  first  king  of  Mexico, 
•whose  name  had  been  preserved  in  the 
family  as  a  precious  relic.  Possessed 
of  an  incalculable  fortune,  Don  Miguel 
lived  on  his  enormous  estates  like  a 
king  in  his  empire,  beloved  and  respect 
ed  by  the  Indians,  whom  he  effectively 
protected  whenever  the  occasion  pres 
ented  itself,  and  who  felt  for  him  a 
veneration  carried  almost  to  idolatry  ; 
for  they  saw  in  him  the  descendant  from 
one  of  their  most  celebrated  kings,  and 
the  born  defender  of  their  race. 

In  New  Mexico  the  Indian  population 
has  very  largely  increased  during  the 
past  fifty  years.  Some  authors,  indeed, 
assert  that  it  is  now  more  numerous 
than  prior  to  the  conquest,  which  is 
very  probable,  through  the  apathy  of 
the  Spaniards,  and  the  carelessness  they 
have  ever  displayed  in  their  struggles 
against  it.  But  the  Indians  have  re 
mained  stationary  amid  the  incessant 
progress  of  civilization,  and  still  retain 
intact  the  principal  traits  of  their  old 
manners.  Scattered  here  and  there  in 
miserable  ranches  or  villages,  they  live 
in  separate  tribes,  governed  by  their 
caciques,  and  they  have  mingled  but 
very  few  Spanish  words  with  their 
idioms,  which  they  speak  as  in  the  time 
of  the  Aztecs.  The  sole  apparent 
change  in  them  is  their  conversion  to 
Catholicism — a  conversion  more  than 
problematical,  as  they  preserve  with  the 
utmost  care  all  the  recollections  of  their 
ancient  religion,  follow  its  rites  in  se 
cret,  and  keep  up  all  its  superstitious 
practices. 

The  Indians — above  all,  in  New  Mex 
ico — although  called  Indios  fideles,  are 
always  ready  on  the  first  opportunity 
to  ally  themselves  with  their  desert 
congeners ;  and  in  the  incursions  of  the 
Apaches  and  Comahches  it  is  rare  for 
the  faithful  Indians  not  to  serve  them 
as  scouts,  guides,  and  spies. 

The  family  of  Don  Miguel  Zarate 
had  retired  to  New  Mexico,  which  coun 
try  it  did  not  leave  again — a  few  years 
after  the  conquests  of  the  adventurer 


Cortez.  Don  Miguel  had  closely  fol 
lowed  the  policy  of  his  family  by  main 
taining  the  bonds  of  friendship  and 
good  neighborhood  which,  from  time 
immemorial,  attached  it  to  the  Indians, 
believers  or  not.  This  policy  had 
borne  its  fruit.  Annually,  in  Septem 
ber,  when  the  terrible  red  warriors, 
preceded  by  murder  and  arson,  rushed 
like  a  torrent  on  the  wretched  inhabit 
ants,  whom  they  massacred  in  the  farms 
they  plundered,  without  pity  of  age  or 
or  sex,  Don  Miguel  Zarate's  es 
tates  were  respected  ;  and  not  merely 
was  no  damage  inflicted  on  them,  but 
even  if  at  times  a  field  were  unwitting 
ly  trampled  by  the  horses'  hoofs,  or  a 
few  trees  destroyed  by  plunderers,  the 
evil  was  immediately  repaired  ere  the 
owner  had  opportunity  for  complaint. 

This  conduct  of  the  Indians  had  not 
failed  to  arouse  against  Don  Miguel  ex 
treme  jealousy  on  the  part  of  the  in 
habitants,  who  saw  themselves  period 
ically  ruined  by  the  Indios  Eravos. 
Earnest  complaints  had  been  laid 
against  him  before  the  Mexican  Gov 
ernment;  but  whatever  might  be  the 
power  of  his  enemies,  and  the  means 
they  employed  to  ruin  him,  the  rich 
haciendero  had  never  been  seriously 
disturbed  :  in  the  first  place,  because 
New  Mexico  is  too  remote  from  the  cap 
ital  for  the  inhabitants  to  have  anything 
to  fear  from  the  governing  classes  ;  and 
secondly,  Don  Miguel  was  too  rich  not 
to  render  it  easy  for  him  to  impose  si 
lence  on  those  who  were  most  disposed 
to  injure  him. 

Don  Miguel,  whose  portrait  we  drew 
in  a  previous  chapter,  was  left  a  widow 
er  after  eight  years'  marriage,  with 
two  children,  a  boy  and  a  girl,  the  son 
being  twenty-four,  the  daughter  seven 
teen,  at  the  period  when  our  story 
opens.  Dona  Clara — such  was  the 
daughter's  name — was  one  of  the  most 
delicious  maidens  that  can  be  imagined. 
She  had  one  of  those  Murillo's  virgin 
heads,  whose  black  eyes,  fringed  with 
long  silky  lashes,  pure  mouth,  and 
dreamy  brow  seem  to  promise  divine 
joys.  Her  complexion,  slightly  bronz 
ed  by  the  warm  sunbeams,  wore  that 
gilded  reflection  which  so  well  becomes 
the  women  of  these  intertropical  coun- 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


27 


tries.  She  was  short  of  stature,  but 
exquisitely  modelled.  Gentle  and  sim 
ple,  ignorant  as  a  Creole,  this  delicious 
child  was  adored  by  her  father,  who 
saw  in  her  the  wife  he  had  so  loved  liv 
ing  once  more.  The  Indians  looked  af 
ter  her  when  she  at  times  passed  pen 
sively,  plucking  a  flower  before  their 
wretched  huts,  and  scarce  bending  the 
•>lants  on  which  she  placed  her  delicate 
oot.  In  their  hearts  they  compared 
this  frail  maiden,  with  her  soft  and  va 
porous  outline,  to  the  "  virgin  of  the 
first  loves,"  that  sublime  creation  of 
the  Indian  religion  which  holds  so  great 
a  place  in  the  Aztec  mythology. 

Don  Pablo  Zarate,  the  haciendero's 
son,  was  a  powerfully-built  man,  with 
harshly-marked  features,  and  a  haughty 
glance,  although  at  times  it  was  imprint 
ed  with  gentleness  and  kindness.  En 
dowed  with  more  than  ordinary 
strength,  skilled  in  all  bodily  exercises, 
Don  Pablo  was  renowned  through  the 
whole  country  for  his  talent  in  taming 
the  most  spirited  horses,  and  the  cor 
rectness  of  his  aim  when  on  the  chase. 
A  determined  hunter  and  daring  wood- 
ranger,  this  young  man,  when  he  had  a 
good  horse  between  his  legs,  and  his 
rifle  in  his  hand,  knew  none,  man  or 
animal,  capable  of  barring  his  passage. 
The  Indians,  in  their  simple  faith,  yield 
ed  to  the  son  the  same  respect  and 
veneration  they  entertained  for  the 
father,  and  fancied  they  saw  in  him  the 
personification  of  Huitzilopochtli,  that 
terrible  war  god  of  the  Aztecs,  to  whom 
62,000  human  victims  were  sacrificed  in 
one  day,  upon  the  inauguration  of  his 
teocali. 

The  Zarates,  then,  at  the  period  when 
our  story  opens,  were  real  kings  of 
New  Mexico.  The  felicity  they  enjoyed 
was  suddenly  troubled  by  one  of  those 
vulgar  incidents  which,  though  unim 
portant  in  themselves,  do  Lot  fail  to 
cause  a  general  perturbation,  and  a  dis 
comfort  possessing  no  apparent  cause, 
from  the  fact  that  it  is  impossible  to 
foresee  or  prevent  them.  The  circum 
stance  was  as  follows : 

Don  Miguel  possessed,  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  Paso,  vast  estates  extending  for 
a  great  distance,  and  consisting  princi 
pally  of  haciendas,  prairies,  and  forests. 


One  day  Don  Miguel  was  returning 
from  a  visit  to  his  haciendas.  It  was 
late,  and  he  pressed  on  his  horse  in 
order  to  reach  ere  night  the  ford,  when, 
at  about  three  or  four  leagues  at  the 
most  from  the  spot  to  which  he  was 
proceeding,  and  just  as  he  was  entering 
a  dense  forest  of  cotton-wood  trees, 
through  which  he  must  pass  ere  reach 
ing  the  ford,  his  attention  was  attracted 
by  cries  mingled  with  growls  emerging 
from  the  wood  he  was  about  to  enter. 
The  haciendero  stopped  in  order  to  ac 
count  for  the  unusual  sounds  he  heard, 
and  bent  his  head  forward  to  detect 
what  was  happening.  But  it  was  im 
possible  for  him  to  distinguish  anything 
through  the  chaos  of  creepers  and  shrubs 
which  intercepted  vision.  In  the  mean 
while,  the  noise  grew  louder,  and  the 
shouts  were  redoubled,  and  mingled 
with  oaths  and  passionate  exclamations. 
The  Mexican's  horse  laid  back  its 
ears,  neighed,  and  refused  to  advance. 
Still  Don  Miguel  must  make  up  his 
mind.  Thinking  that  a  man  was  pro 
bably  attacked  by  wild  beasts,  he  only 
consulted  his  heart ;  and,  in  spite  of  the 
visible  repugnance  of  his  steed,  he  com 
pelled  it  to  go  forward  and  enter  the 
wood.  He  had  scarce  gone  a  few  yards 
ere  he  stopped  in  amazement  at  the 
strange  spectacle  that  presented  itself 
to  him. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    PECCARIS. 

IN  the  middle  of  the  clearing  lay  a 
ripped-up  horse,  which  six  or  eight  pec- 
caris  were  rending,  while  a  dozen  others 
were  attacking  with  their  tusks  the  stem 
of  an  enormous  tree,  in  the  topmost 
branches  of  which  a  man  had  sought 
shelter. 

Let  us  explain  to  our  readers,  who 
probably  know  little  about  them,  what 
sort  of  animals  the  peccaris  are. 

The  peccaris  hold  the  intermediate 
grade  between  the  domestic  pig  and  the 
wild  boar.  Although  this  animal  does 
not  exceed  two  feet  in  height,  and  is 
not  more  than  three  feet  long  from  the 
end  of  the  suout  to  the  beginning  of  the 


28 


THE    TRATL-HUNTEB. 


tail,  it  is  indubitably  one  of  the  most 
dangerous  animals  in  North  America. 
The  animal's  jaw  is  provided  with  tusks 
rather  like  those  of  the  boar,  but 
straight  and  sharp,  their  length  varying 
between  four  and  six  inches.  In  the 
shape  of  the  body  it  resembles  a  pig, 
but  the  bristles  scattered  over  its  warty 
hide  are  in  colored  strips ;  the  part 
nearest  the  skin  is  white,  and  the  point 
of  a  chocolate  tinge.  So  soon  as  the 
animal  is  enraged,  these  bristles  stand 
out  like  the  quills  of  a  porcupine. 

The  movements  of  the  peccaris  are 
as  quick  and  sharp  as  those  of  a  squir 
rel.  They  ordinarily  live  in  herds  of 
fifteen,  thirty,  and  even  fifty.  The 
strength  of  the  head,  neck,  and  shoul 
ders  is  so  great  when  they  charge,  that 
nothing  can  resist  the  impetuosity  of 
their  attacks.  A  remarkable  peculia 
rity  of  this  genus  is  the  clumsy  wart 
they  have  on  their  backs,  whence  a 
musty  fluid  evaporates  when  the  animal 
is  in  a  fury. 

The  peccari  lives  in  preference  on 
acorns,  roots,  wheat,  sugar  cane,  and 
reptiles  of  every  description.  It  is  a 
proved  fact  that  the  most  venomous 
serpents  are  devoured  by  them  without 
their  feeling  in  the  slightest  degree  in 
commoded. 

The  mode  in  which  the  peccari  forms 
its  lair  is  very  singular.  This  lair  is 
generally  in  the  midst  of  tufted  and 
impenetrable  canes,  found  in  marshy 
spots  round  the  monarchs  of  the  forest, 
which  still  stand  like  crushed  giants, 
with  their  grappling  lines  of  creepers 
and  virgin  vines.  The  trunks  of  these 
trees,  which  at  times  measure  forty  feet 
in  circumference,  are  nearly  all  hollow, 
and  thus  afford  a  convenient  shelter  for 
the  peccaris,  which  retire  to  them  every 
night  in  herds  of  twenty  to  twenty-five, 
entering  the  cavity  one  after  the  other 
backwards;  so  that  the  last  has  the  end 
of  its  snout  placed  just  at  the  entrance 
of  the  hole,  thus  watching,  as  it  were, 
over  the  rest  of  its  companions. 

The  peccaris  are  unboundedly  fero 
cious  :  they  know  not  danger,  or  at 
least  despise  it  completely.  They  al 
ways  attack  in  herds,  and  fight  with  un 
equalled  rage  until  the  last  succumbs, 
no  matter  the  nature  of  their  foe. 


Hence  men  and  animals  all  fly  a  meet 
ing  with  these  terrible  beasts :  the 
jaguar,  so  strong  and  redoubtable,  will 
become  their  prey  if  it  be  so  imprudent 
as  to  attack  them.  This  is  the  way 
they  set  about  conquering  this  wild 
beast : 

When  a  jaguar  has  wounded  a  pec 
cari,  the  latter  collect,  chase  it,  and  pur 
sue  until  they  can  contrive  to  surround 
the  common  enemy.  When  every  issue 
is  closed,  the  jaguar,  believing  it  can 
thus  escape,  seeks  refuge  up  a  tree. 
But  the  peccaris  do  not  resign  the  ven 
geance ;  they  establish  themselves  at 
the  foot  of  the  tree,  being  incessantly 
recruited  by  fresh  allies,  and  patiently 
waiting  till  the  jaguar,  driven  to  extre 
mities  by  hunger  and  thirst,  decides  on 
descending  from  its  improvised  fortress. 
This  is  almost  always  sure  to  happen  at 
the  end  of  two  or  three  days  at  the 
most.  The  jaguar  bounds  into  the 
midst  of  its  enemies,  which  boldly 
await  it,  and  attack  it  bravely  ;  a  ter 
rible  fight  commences  ;  and  the  tiger, 
after  covering  the  ground  with  victims, 
at  length  succumbs  beneath  the  efforts 
of  its  assailants,  and  is  ripped  up  by 
their  tusks. 

After  what  we  have  said,  it  is  easy 
to  understand  how  precarious  was  the 
position  of  the  man  perched  on  the  top 
of  the  tree,  and  surrounded  by  peccaris. 
His  enemies  seemed  determined  not  to 
leave  their  ground  ;  they  craftily  crept 
round  the  tree,  attacked  its  base  with 
their  tusks,  and  then  recognizing  the 
inutility  of  their  onsets,  they  quietly 
lay  down  by  the  carcass  of  the  horse, 
which  they  had  already  sacrificed  to 
their  fury.  Don  Miguel  felt  moved  to 
pity  for  the  poor  fellow,  whose  position 
grew  momentarily  more  critical ;  but 
in  vain  did  he  rack  his  brains  how  to 
help  the  unhappy  man  whose  destruc 
tion  was  assured. 

To  attack  the  peccaris  would  have 
been  extreme  imprudence,  and  have 
produced  no  other  result  than  that  of 
turning  on  himself  the  fury  of  the  ani 
mals,  while  not  saving  the  man  he  wish 
ed  to  help.  Still  time  pressed.  What 
was  to  be  done?  How,  without  sacri 
ficing  himself,  save  the  man  who  ran  so 
great  a  risk  1 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


The  Mexican  hesitated  for  a  long 
period.  It  seemed  to  Don  Miguel  im 
possible  to  leave,  without  help,  this  man 
•whose  death  was  certain.  This  idea, 
which  presented  itself  to  his  mind  sev 
eral  times,  he  had  energetically  repuls 
ed,  so  monstrous  did  it  appear  to  him. 
At  length  he  resolved  at  all  risks  to  at 
tempt  impossibilities  in  favor  of  this 
stranger,  of  whose  death  he  would 
have  eventually  accused  himself  had  he 
left  him  to  perish  in  the  desert. 

The  stranger's  position  was  the  more 
critical  because,  in  his  haste    to  defend 
himself  from   the  attacks    of   his    ene 
mies,  he  had  left  his  rifle  fall  at  the  foot 
of  the  tree,  and   was  consequently  un 
able  to  reduce   the  number  of  the  pec- 
caris.     In  spite  of  their  fineness  of  scent, 
the  latter  had  not  noticed  Don  Miguel's 
approach,  who,  by  a  providential    acci 
dent,  had  entered  the  wood   on  the  side 
opposite  the  wind.     The   Mexican  dis 
mounted  with  a  sigh,  patted   his    horse, 
and    then    took   off  its   accoutrements. 
The  noble  animal,  habituated  toils  mas 
ter's  caresses,  shook  his  head  joyously, 
and  fixed   its  large  intelligent  eyes  on 
him.     Don    Miguel  could    not  repress 
another  sigh :  a  tear  fell   down   on    his 
bronzed     cheeks.     On  the  point  of  ac 
complishing   the  sacrifice,  he  hesitated. 
It  was  a  faithful  companion,  almost  a 
friend,  he  was  about   to  separate  from  ; 
but    the    life  of  a    man    was  at    st;ike. 
The  Mexican    drove  back  the    feelings 
that    agitated  him,  and    his    resolution 
was  formed.     lie  passed  a  lasso  round 
his  horse's  neck,  and,  in  spite  of  its  ob 
stinate  resistance,  compelled   it    to    ad 
vance  to  the  entrance  of  the  clearing  in 
which  the  peccaris  were  assembled.     A 
frail    curtain    of    creepers    and    leaves 
alone  hid  it  from  their   sight.      On    ar 
riving    here    Don   Miguel    stopped :  he 
had  one  more  moment's  hesitation,  but 
"  only  one ;  for    then    seizing   a  piece  of 
tinder,  which    he  lighted,  he    thrust  it 
iiito  the  poor  animal's  ear  while  caress 
ing  it. 

The  effect  was  sudden  and  terrible. 
The  horse  uttered  a  snort  of  pain  ;  and 
rendered  mad  by  the  burning,  bounded 
forward  into  the  clearing,  striving  ir 
vain  to  get  rid  of  the  tinder  which 
caused  it  intolerable  suffering.  Don 
2 


\Iiguel  had  smartly  leaped  aside,  and 
low  followed  with  an  anxious  glance 
he  result  of  the  terrible  tentative  he 
lad  just  made  to  save  the  stranger. 
On  seeing  the  horse  appear  suddenly  in 
heir  midst,  the  peccaris  rose,  formed  a 
:ompact  group  and  rushed  with  their 
leads  down  in  pursuit  of  the  horse, 
hinking  no  longer  of  the  man.  The 
animal,  spurred  on  still  more  by  the 
sight  of  its  ferocious  enemies,  shot 
ahead  with  the  speed  of  an  arrow, 
jreaking  down  with  its  chest  all  the  ob- 
tacles  in  its  way,  and  followed  closely 
>y  the  peccaris. 

The  man  saved  ;  but  at  what  a  price  ! 
Don  Miguel  repressed  a  last  sigh  of  re- 
fret,  and  leaped  into  the  clearing.     The 
tranger  had  already  descended  from  the 
ree  ;  but  the  emotion  he  had  undergone 
A;as  so  extreme,  that  he  remained  seat 
ed   on  the  ground,  almost  in  a  state  of 
unconsciousness. 

"  Quick,  quick !"  Don  Miguel  said 
o  him  sharply.  "  We  have  not  a  mo 
ment  to  lose  :  the  peccaris  may  alter 
their  minds  and  return." 

"  That  is  true,"  the  stranger  muttered 
n  a  hollow  voice,  as  he  cast  a  terrified 
glance  around.  "  Let  us  be  off — off  at 
.nee." 

He  made  an  effort  over  himself, 
seized  his  rifle,  and  rose.  Through  a 
presentiment  for  which  he  could  not 
account  to  himself,  Don  Miguel  experi 
enced  at  the  sight  of  this  man,  whom 
he  had  hitherto  scarce  looked  at,  a  feel 
ing  of  invincible  doubt  and  disgust. 
Owing  to  the  life  he  was  obliged  to 
lead  on  these  frontiers,  frequented  by 
people  of  every  description,  the  hacien- 
dero  had  been  often  brought  into  rela 
tion  with  trappers  and  hunters  whose 
faces  were  no  recommendation  to  them  ; 
but  never  ere  now  had  chance  brought 
him  in  contact  with  an  individual  of 
such  sinister  appearance  as  this  one. 

Still  he  did  not  allow  his  feelings  to 
be  seen  through,  and  invited  this  man 
to  follow  him.  The  latter  did  not  let 
the  invitation  be  repeated  ;  for  he  was 
anxious  to  escape  from  the  spot  where 
he  had  been  so  near  death.  Thank* 
to  the  Mexican's  acquaintance  with  the 
country,  the  wood  was  speedily  travers 
ed,  and  the  two  men,  after  a  walk  of 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


scarce  an  hour's  duration,  reached  the 
banks  of  the  Del  Norte,  just  opposite 
the  village.  Their  speed  had  been  so 
great,  their  anxiety  so  serious,  that 
they  had  not  exchanged  a  syllable,  so 
terrified  were  they  of  seeing  the  peccaris 
appear  at  any  moment.  Fortunately 
this  was  not  the  case,  and  they  reached 
the  ford  without  being  again  disturbed. 

Don  Miguel  was  burdened  with  his 
horse's  trappings,  which  he  now  threw 
mi  the  ground,  and  looked  around  him 
in  the  hope  of  finding  some  one  who 
would  help  him  in  crossing  the  river. 
His  expectations  were  not  deceived ; 
for  just  as  they  reached  the  ford  an 
arriero  was  preparing  to  cross  to  the 
other  side  of  the  river  with  his  recua  of 
mules,  and,  with  the  generosity  innate 
in  all  Mexicans,  he  offered  to  carry  them 
both  to  the  Paso. 

The  two  men  eagerly  accepted,  each 
mounted  a  mule,  and  half  an  hour 
later  they  found  themselves  in  safety 
at  the  village.  After  giving  the  arriero 
a  few  reals  to  requite  him  for  his  ser 
vices,  Don  Miguel  took  up  his  horse's 
trappings  again,  and  prepared  to  start. 

The  stranger  stopped. 

"  We  are  about  to  part  here,  cabal- 
lero,"  he  said  in  a  rough  voice,  with  a 
very  marked  English  accent;  "  but  be 
fore  leaving,  let  me  express  to  you  my 
deep  gratitude  for  the  noble  and  gene 
rous  manner  in  which  you  saved  my 
life  at  the  peril  of  your  own." 

"Sir,"  the  Mexican  simply  answered, 
"  t  only  did  my  duty  in  saving  you. 
In  the  desert  all  men  are  brothers,  and 
owe  each  other  protection.  Hence  do 
not  thank  me,  I  beg,  for  a  very  simple 
action :  any  other  in  my  place  would 
have  acted  as  I  have  done." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  the  stranger  continu 
ed  ;  "  but  be  kind  enough,  pray,  to  tell 
me  your  name,  so  that  1  may  know  to 
whom  I  owe  my  life." 

"  That  is  needless,"  Don  Miguel  said 
with  a  smile.  "  Still,  as  I  fancy  you 
are  a  stranger  in  these  parts,  let  me 
give  you  a  piece  of  advice." 

"  What  is  it,  sir?" 

"  Never  in  future  to  attack  the  pec 
caris.  They  are  terrible  enemies,  only 
to  be  -eonquered  by  a  strong  body  of 
men;  and  an  individual  in  attacking 


them  commits  an  unpardonable  folly, 
to  which  he  must  fall  a  victim." 

"  Be  assured,  sir,  that  I  shall  profit 
by  the  lesson  I  have  received  this  day, 
and  shall  never  put  myself  in  such  a 
wasps'  nest  again.  1  was  too  near  pay 
ing  dearly  for  my  imprudence.  But  I 
beg  you,  sir,  do  not  let  us  separate  ere 
I  know  the  name  of  my  preserver." 

"  As  you  insist,  sir,  you  shall  learn 
it.  I  am  Don  Miguel  de  Zarate." 

The  stranger  took  a  peculiar  glance 
at  the  speaker,  while  repressing  a  move 
ment  of  surprise. 

"  Ah  !"  he  said  in  a  singular  tone, 
"Thanks,  Don  Miguel  Zarate.  With 
out  knowing  you  personally,  I  was  al 
ready  acquainted  with  your  name." 

"  That  is  possible,"  the  haciendero 
answered  ;  "  for  I  am  well  known  in 
this  country,  where  my  family  has  been 
established  for  many  a  long  year." 

"  1,  sir,  am  the  man  whom  the  In 
dians  call  Witchasta  Joute,  the  Man- 
eater,  and  the  hunters,  my  companions, 
Red  Cedar." 

And  after  lifting  his  hand  to  his  cap 
in  salute,  this  man  threw  his  rifle  on 
his  shoulder,  turned  on  his  heel,  and 
went  off  at  full  speed. 

Don  Miguel  looked  after  him  for  a 
while,  and  then  walked  pensively  to 
ward  the  house  he  inhabited  at  el  Paso. 
The  haciendero  did  not  suspect  that  he 
had  sacrificed  his  favorite  horse  to  save 
the  life  of  his  most  implacable  enemy. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  WOUND. 

AT  sunrise,  Don  Miguel,  mounted  on 
an  excellent  horse,  left  the  Paso,  and 
proceeded  toward  the  hacienda  where  he 
resided  with  his  family. 

It  was  situated  a  few  miles  from  the 
Presidio  of  San  Elezario,  in  a  delicious 
position,  and  was  known  as  the  Hacien 
da  de  la  Noria  (the  Farm  of  the  Well). 
The  estate  inhabited  by  Don  Miguel 
stood  in  the  centre  of  the  vast  delta 
formed  by  the  Del  Norte  and  the  Rio 
San  Pedro,  or  Devil's  River.  It  was 
one  of  those  strong  and  massive  build- 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


ings  which  the  Spaniards  alone  knew 
how  to  erect  when  they  were  absolute 
masters  of  Mexico. 

The  hacienda  formed  a  vast  parellel- 
ogram,  supported  at  regular  distances 
by  enormous  cross  walls  of  carved 
stone.  Like  all  the  frontier  habita 
tions,  which  are  rather  fortresses  than 
houses,  it  was  only  pierced  on  the  side 
of  the  plain  with  a  few  narrow  windows 
resembling  loopholes,  and  protected  by 
s<>lid  iron  bars.  This  abode  was  be- 
iiirt  by  a  thick  wall  of  circurnvallation, 
defended  on  the  top  by  that  fretwork 
called  almenas,  which  indicated  the  no 
bility  of  the  owner. 

Within  this  wall,  but  separated  from 
the  chief  apartments,  were  the  stables, 
outliouses,  barns  and  cabins  for  the 
•peons. 

At  the  extremity  of  the  courtyard,  in 
an  angle  of  the  hacienda,  was  the  tall 
square  belfry  of  the  chapel,  rising  above 
its  terraced  roof. 

This  chapel  was  served  by  a  monk 
called  Fray  Ambrosio. 

A  magnificent  plain  closed  in  this 
splendid  farm.  At  the  end  of  a  valley 
more  than  fifty  miles  in  length  were 
cactus  trees  of  a  conical  shape,  loaded 
with  fruit  and  flowers,  and  whose 
steins  were  as  much  as  six  feet  in  dia 
meter. 

Don  Miguel  employed  a  considerable 
number  of  peons  in  the  cultivation  of 
the  sugar  cane,  which  he  carried  on  upon 
a  very  large  scale.  As  everybody 
Jinows,  the  cane  is  planted  by  laying  it 
horizontally  in  furrows  half  a  foot  deep. 
From  each  knot  springs  a  shoot  which 
reaches  a  height  of  about  three  yards, 
and  which  is  cut  at  the  end  of  a  year  to 
extract  the  juice. 

Nothing  can  be  more  picturesque 
than  the  sight  of  a  field  of  sugar  canes. 
It  was  one  of  those  superb  American 
mornings  during  which  nature  seems  to 
be  holding  a  festival.  The  centzontle 
(American  nightingale)  frequently  pour 
ed  forth  its  harmonious  notes ;  the  red 
throstled  cardinals,  the  blue  birds,  the 
parroquets,  chattered  gaily  beneath  the 
foliage;  far  away  on  the  plain  galloped 
flocks  of  light  antelopes  and  timid 
ashatas,  while  on  the  extreme  verge  of 
the  horizon  rushed  startled  manadas  of 


wild  horses,  which  raised  clouds  of  im 
palpable  dust  beneath  the  vibration  of 
their  rapid  hoofs.  A  few  alligators, 
carelessly  stretched  out  ,on  the  river 
mud,  were  drying  their  scales  in  the- 
sun,  and  in  mid  air  the  grand  eagles  of 
the  Sierra  Madre  hovered  majestically 
above  the  valley. 

Don  Miguel  advanced  rapidly  at  the 
favorite  pace  of  the  Mexican  ginetas, 
and  which  consists  in  making  the  horse 
raise  its  front  legs,  while  the  hind  ones 
almost  graze  the  'ground — a  peculiar 
sort  of  amble  which  is  very  gentle  and 
rapid. 

The  haciendero  only  employed  four 
hours  in  traversing  the  distance  separat 
ing  him  from  the  hacienda,  where  he 
arrived  about  nine  in  the  morning.  He 
was  received  on  the  threshold  of  the 
house  by  his  daughter,  who,  warned  of 
his  arrival,  had  hastened  to  meet  him. 

Don  Miguel  had  been  absent  from, 
home  a  fortnight ;  hence,  he  received 
his  daughter's  caresses  with  the  greatest 
pleasure.  When  he  had  embraced  her 
several  times,  while  continuing  to  hold 
her  tightly  clasped  in  his  arms,  he  re 
garded  her  attentively  during  several 
seconds. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  mi  querida 
Clara?"  he  asked  with  sympathy. 
"  You  seem  very  sad.  Can  you  feol  vex 
ed  at  the  sight  of  me  ?"  he  added,  with 
a  smile. 

"  Oh,  you  cannot  believe  that,  father  !" 
she  answered  quickly  ;  "  for  you  know 
how  happy  your  presence  must  render 
me." 

"  Thanks,  my  child  !  But  whence,  in 
that  case,  comes  the  sorrow  I  see  spread 
over  your  features  ?" 

The  maiden  let  her  eyes  sink,  but 
made  no  reply. 

Don  Miguel  threw  a  searching  glance 
around. 

"Where  is  Don  Pablo?"  he  said. 
"  Why  has  he  not  come  to  greet  me  ? 
Can  he  be  away  from  the  hacienda  ?" 

"  No,  father,  he  is  here." 

"  Well,  then,  what  is  the  reason  he  is 
not  by  your  side  ?" 

"  Because "    the   girl   said,  with 

hesitation. 

"  Well  ?" 

"  He  is  ill." 


32 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


"  My  son  ill !"  Don  Miguel  exclaimed 

"  I  am  wrong,"  Dona  Clara  correctec 

herself. 

"  Explain  .  yourself,      in     Heaten's 
•name !" 

"My  father,  the  fact  is  that  Pablo  "is 
wounded." 

"  Wounded  !"  the  haciendero  sharply 
said  ;  and  thrusting  his  daughter  aside 
he  rushed  toward  the  house,  bounded 
up  the  few  steps  leading  to  the  porch, 
crossed  several  rooms  without  stopping, 
and  reached  his  son's  chamber. 

The  young  man  was  lying,  weak  and 

*    faint,  on  his  bed  ;  but  on  perceiving  his 

parent  he  smiled,  and  held  his  hand  to 

him. 

Don  Miguel  was  fondly  attached  to 
his  son,  his  sole  heir,  and  walked  up  to 
him. 

"  What  is  this  wound  of  which  I 
have  heard  V  he  asked  him  in  great 
agitation. 

"  Less  than  nothing,  father,"  the 
young  man  replied,  exchanging  a  mean 
ing  glance  with  his  sister,  who  entered 
at  the  moment.  "  Clara  is  a  foolish 
girl,  who,  in  her  tenderness,  wrongly 
alarmed  you." 

"  But,  after  all,  you  are  wounded  T' 
the  father  continued. 

"  But  I  repeat  that  it  is  a  mere  noth 
ing." 

"  Come,  explain  yourself.  How  and 
when  did  you  receive  this  wound  ?" 

The  young  man  blushed,  and  main 
tained  silence. 

"  I  insist  on  knowing,"  Don  Miguel 
continued  pressingly. 

"  Good  heavens,  father  !"  Don  Pablo 
replied  with  an  air  of  ill-humor,  "  I  do 
not  understand  why  you  are  alarmed 
for  so  futile  a  cause.  I  am  not  a  child, 
whom  a  scratch  should  make  frighten 
ed  ;  and  many  times  have  I  been 
_  wounded  previously,  and  you  have  not 
disturbed  yourself  so  much." 

"  That  is  possible  ;  but  the  mode  in 
which  you  answer  me,  the  care  you 
seem  trying  to  take  to  keep  me  igno 
rant  of  the  cause  of  this  wound — in  a 
word,  everything  tells  me  that  this  time 
you  are  trying  to  hide  something  grave 
from  me.  " 

"  You  are  mistaken,  father,  and  shall 
convince  yourself." 


"I  wish  nothing  more:  speak. 
Clara,  my  child,  go  and  give  orders  to 
have  breakfast  prepared,  for  I  am  dying 

c   i  »»  JO 

or  hunger. 

The  girl  went  out. 

"Now  it  is  our  turn,"  Don  Miguel 
continued.  "  in  the  first  place,  where 
are  you  wounded  ?" 

"  Oh  !  I  have  merely  a  slight  scratch 
on  my  shoulder :  if  I  went  to  bed  it 
was  more  through  indolence  than  any 
other  motive." 

"  Hum  !  and  what  scratched  your 
shoulder  ?'' 

"  A  bullet." 

"What!  a  bullet!  Then  you  must 
have  fought  a  duel,  unhappy  boy  !"  Don 
Miguel  exclaimed  with  a  shudder. 

The  young  man  smiled,  pressed  his 
father's  hand,  and  bending  toward  him, 
said  : 

"This  is  what  has  happened." 

"  I  am  listening  to  you,"  Don  Miguel 
replied,  making  an  effort  to  calm  him 
self. 

"Two  days  after  your  departure, 
father,"  Don  Pablo  continued,  "  I  was 
superintending,  as  you  wished  me  to 
do,  the  cutting  of  the  cane  crop,  when 
a  hunter  whom  you  will  probably  re 
member  having  seen  prowling  about  the 
estate,  a  man  of  the  name  of  Andres 
Grarote,  accosted  me  at  the  moment  I 
was  about  to  return  home  after  giving 
my  orders  to  the  majordomo.  After 
saluting  me  obsequiously  as  his  wont, 
the  scamp  smiled  cunningly,  and  lower- 
ng  his  voice  so  as  not  to  be  overheard 
>y  those  around  us,  said,  'Don  Pablo,  I« 
Uncy  you  would  give  half  an  ounce  to 
he  man  who  brought  you  important 
news  ?'  '  That  depends,'  1  answered  ; 
or,  having  known  the  man  a  long  time, 
was  aware  much  confidence  could  not 
>e  placed  in  him.  '  Bah  !  your  grace 
s  so  rich,'  he  continued  insidiously, 
that  a  miserable  sum  like  that  is  less 
han  nothing  in  his  pocket,  while  in 
Tiine  it  would  do  me  a  deal  of  good.' 

"  Apart  from  his  defects,  this  scamp 
lad  at  times  done  us  a  few  small  ser 
vices  ;  and  then,  as  he  said,  a  half- 
unce  is  but  a  trifle,  so  I  gave  it  to  him. 
le  stowed  it  away  in  his  pockets,  and 
hen  bent  down  to  my  ear.  '  Thanks, 
Don  Pablo/  he  said  to  me.  '  I  shall 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


not  cheat  you  of  your  money.  Your 
horse  is  rested,  and  can  stand  a  long 
journey.  Proceed  to  Buffalo  Valley, 
and  there  you  will  learn  something  to 
interest  you.'  It  was  in  vain  that  I 
urged  him  to  explain  himself  more 
clearly  ;  I  could  draw  no  more  from 
him.  He  merely  added  before  parting 
from  me,  '  Don  Pablo,  you  have  good 
weapons;  so  take  them  with  you,  for 
no  man  knoweth  what  may  happen.' 
Somehow  the  scamp's  veiled  confidence 
aroused  my  curiosity  :  hence  I  resolved 
to  go  to  Buffalo  Valley,  and  gain  the 
clue  of  this  riddle." 

"Andres  Garote  is  a  villain,  who 
laid  a  snare  for  you,  into  which  you 
fell,"  Don  Miguel  interrupted. 

"  No,  father,  you  are  mistaken. 
Andres  was  honest  towards  me,  and  I 
have  only  thanks  to  give  him.  Still  he 
should  have  explained  himself,  perhaps, 
more  distinctly." 

The  haciendero  shook  his  head  with 
a  doubting  air. 

"  Go  on,"  he  said. 

"  1  entered  my  house,  procured  the 
weapons,  and  then,  mounted  on  Negro, 
my  black  charger,  I  proceeded  toward 
Buffalo  Valley.  As  you  are  aware, 
father,  the  place  we  call  so,  and  which 
belongs  to  us,  is  an  immense  forest  of 
cedars  and  maples,  nearly  forty  miles 
in  circumference,  and  traversed  almost 
through  its  entire  length  by  a  wide  con 
fluent  of  the  Rio  San  Pedro." 

"Of  course  I  know  it,  and  I  intend 
next  year  to  fell  some  of  the  wood 
there." 

"  You  need  not  take  the  trouble/'  the 
young  man  said  with  a  smile,  "  for  some 
one  has  done  it  for  you." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  the  hacien 
dero  asked  wrathfully.  "  Who  dared  ?" 

"  Oh  !  one  of  those  wretched  heretic 
squatters,  as  they  call  themselves.  The 
villain  found  the  spot  to  suit  him,  and 
has  quietly  settled  there  with  his  three 
whelps — three  big  fellows  with  hang-dog 
faces,  who  laughed  at  me  when  I  told 


them  the  forest  was  mine,  and  answered, 
while  aiming  at  me,  that  they  were 
North  Americans,  who  cared  as  little 
for  me  as  they  did  for  a  coyote  ;  that 
the  ground  belonged  to  the  first  comei  ;* 
and  that  I  shall  afford  them  lively  pleas 
ure  by  being  off  at  full  speed.  What 
more  shall  I  tell  you,  father  ?  I  take 
after  you.  I  have  hot  blood,  and  I  cor 
dially  hate  that  race  of  Yankee  pirates, 
who,  for  some  years  back,  have  settled 
on  our  lovely  country  like  a  swarm  of 
musquitos.  1  saw  our  forest  plundered, 
our  finest  trees  cut  down.  I  could  not 
remain  unmoved  in  the  presence  of 
these  scoundels'  insolence,  and  the  quar 
rel  became  so  sharp  that  they  fired  at 

"Virgen  Santissima!"  Don  Miguel 
exclaimed  in  fury,  "  they  shall  pay  dear 
ly  for  the  affront  they  have  offered  you 
I  swear  it !  I  will  take  exemplary 
vengeance." 

"  Why  be  so  angry,  father  1"  the 
young  man  replied,  visibly  annoyed 
at  the  effect  his  story  had  produced. 
"The  harm  these  people  do  us  is  really 
very  trifling.  I  was  in  the  wrong  to  let 
my  passion  carry  me  away." 

"  On  the  contrary,  you  were  right. 
I  will  not  have  these  Northern  thieves 
come  and  commit  their  plunder  here. 
I  will  put  a  stop  to  it." 

"I  assure  you  that,  if  you  will  leave 
me  to  act,  I  feel  certain  of  arranging 
this  affair  to  your  entire  satisfaction." 

"  I  forbid  you  taking  the  slightest 
steps,  for  this  matter  concerns  me  now. 
Whatever  may  occur,  i  do  not  wish  you 
to  interfere.  Will  you  promise  me 
this?" 

"  As  you  insist,  I  do  so,  father." 

"  Very  good.  Get  cured  as  speedily 
as  possible,  and  keep  your  mind  at  rest. 
The  Yankees  shall  pay  me  dearly  for 
the  blood  they  have  shed." 

With  these  words  Don  Miguel  retir 
ed,  and  his  son  fell  back  on  his  bed 
stifling  a  sigh,  and  uttering  a  hoarse  ex 
clamation  of  passion. 


34 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER, 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   SQUATTER'S    SHANTT. 

DON  PABLO  had  not  told  his  father 
the  facts  in  all  their  truth  or  detail. 
He  had  fallen  into  a  perfect  ambuscade. 
He  was  suddenly  attacked  by  the  three 
brothers,  who  would  have  mercilessly 
killed  him,  resolved  to  lay  the  blame  of 
his  death  on  the  wild  beasts,  had  not,  at 
the  moment  when  one  of  them  lifted 
his  knife  on  the  young  man,  who  was 
thrown  down  and  rendered  motionless 
by  the  others,  a  providential  succor 
reached  him  in  the  person  of  a  charm 
ing  maid  scarce  sixteen  years  of  age. 

The  courageous  girl  rushed  from  a 
copse  with  the  rapidity  of  a  fawn,  and 
threw  herself  resolutely  into  the  midst 
of' the  assassins. 

"  What  are  you  about,  brother  ?"  she 
exclaimed  in  a  melodious  voice,  whose 
harmonious  notes  echoed  amorously  in 
Don  Pablo's  ears.  "  Why  do  you 
•wish  to  kill  this  stranger  ?" 

The  three  squatters,  surprised  by 
this  apparition,  which  they  were  far 
from  expecting,  fell  back  a  few  paces. 

Don  Pablo  profited  by  this  .  truce 
t<>  jump  up  and  regain  possession  of 
his  arms,  which  had  fallen  by  his  side. 

"  Was  it  not  enough,"  the  girl  con 
tinued,  "  to  rob  this  man,  that  you 
must  now  try  to  take  his  life'?  Fie, 
brothers !  Do  you  not  know  that 
blood  leaves  on  the  hands  of  him  who 
spills  it  stains  which  nothing  can  efface'? 
Let  this  man  retire  in  peace." 

The  young  men  hesitated.  Although 
unconsciously  yielding  to  their  sister's 
influence,  they  were  ashamed  of  thus 
executing  her  wishes.  Still  they  did 
not  dare  express  their  thoughts,  and 
merely  bent  on  their  enemy,  who 
awaited  them  with  a  firm  foot  and 
pistols  in  hand,  glances  laden  with 
hatred  and  anger. 

"  Ellen  is  right,"  the  youngest  of 
her  brothers  suddenly  said.  "  No,  I 
will  not  allow  any  harm  to  be  done 
the  stranger." 

The  others  looked  at  him  savagely. 

"  You  would  defend  him,  if  necessa- 

sary,  I   suppose,  Shaw  ?"   Nathan   said 

to  him  ironically. 


11  Why  should  I  not,  were  it  requir 
ed  ?"  the  young  man  said  boldly. 

"  Eh  !"  Gutter  remarked  with  a  grin, 
"  he  is  thinking  of  the  Wood  Eglan 
tine." 

This  word  had  been  scarce  uttered 
ere  Shaw,  with  purpled  face,  contracted 
features,  and  eyes  injected  with  blood, 
rushed  with  uplifted  knife  on  his  broth 
er,  who  awaited  him  firmly.  The  girl 
dashed  between  them. 

"  Peace,  peace  !"  she  shrieked  in  a 
piercing  voice,  "  do  brothers  dare 
threaten  one  another  ?" 

The  two  young  fellows  remained  mo 
tionless,  but  watching  and  ready  to 
strike  in  a  moment. 

Don  Pablo  fixed  an  ardent  glance  on 
the  girl,  who  was  really  admirable  at 
this  moment.  With  her  features  ani 
mated  by  anger,  her  head  erect,  and 
her  arms  stretched  out  between  the  two 
men,  she  bore  a  startling  likeness  to 
those  Druidesses  who  in  olden  times 
summoned  the  warriors  to  combat  be 
neath  the  forests  of  Germany. 

In  her  whole  person  she  offered  the 
complete  type  of  the  gentle  Northern 
woman.  Her  hair  light  and  golden  like 
ripe  corn ;  her  eyes  of  extreme  purity, 
which  reflected  the  azure  of  the  sky  ; 
her  earnest  mouth,  with  rosy  lips  and 
pearly  teeth ;  her  flexible  and  small 
waist;  the  whiteness  of  her  complex 
ion,  whose  delicate  and  transparent 
skin  still  bore  the  flush  of  adolescence 
— all  was  combined  in  this  charming 
maiden  to  render  her  the  most .  seduc 
tive  creature  imaginable. 

Don  Pablo,  a  stranger  to  this  kind 
of  beauty,  felt  himself  involuntarily  at 
tracted  toward  the  girl,  and  entirely 
subjugated  by  hur.  Forgetting  the 
reason  that  had  brought  him  to  this 
spot,  the  danger  he  had  incurred,  and 
that  which  still  menaced  him,  he  was 
fascinated  and  trembling  before  this  de 
licious  apparition,  fearing  at  each  in 
stant  to  see  it  vanish  like  a  vision,  and 
not  daring  to  turn  his  glance  from  her 
while  he  felt  he  had  no  strength  left  to 
admire  her. 

This  young  creature,  so  frail  and 
delicate,  formed  a  strange  contrast  with 
the  tall  statures  and  marked  features 
of  her  brothers,  whose  coarse  and  sav 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


35 


age  manners  only  served  to  heighten 
tiie  elegance  and  charm  exhaled  by  her 
whole  person.  Still  this  scene  could 
not  be  prolonged,  and  must  be  ended 
at  once.  The  maiden  walked  toward 
Don  Pablo. 

"  Sir,"  she  said  to  him  with  a  soft 
smile,  "  You  have  nothing  more  to  fear 
fpom  my  brothers ;  you  can  mount 
/our  horse  again,  and  set  out,  and  no 
>ne  will  oppose  your  departure." 

The  young  man  understood  that  he 
had  no  pretext  to  prolong  his  stay  at 
this  spot;  he  therefore  let  his  head 
sink,  placed  his  pistols  in  his  holsters, 
leaped  on  his  horse,  and  set  out  with 
regret,  and  as  slowly  as  possible. 

He  had  scarce  gone  a  league  when  he 
heard  the  hasty  clatter  of  a  horse  be 
hind  him.  He  turned  back.  The  ap 
proaching  horseman  was  Shaw,  who 
soon  caught  up  with  Don  Pablo.  The 
pair  then  proceeded  some  distance  side 
by  side  without  exchanging  a  syllable, 
and  both  seemed  plunged  in  profound 
thought.  On  reaching  the  skirt  of  the 
forest,  Shaw  checked  his  horse,  and 
softly  laid  his  right  hand  on  the  Mexi 
can's  bridle.  Don  Pablo  also  stopped 
on  this  hint,  and  waited,  while  fixing  an 
inquiring  glance  on  his  strange  com 
rade. 

"  Stranger,"  the  young  man  said, 
"  my  sister  sends  me.  She  implores 
you,  if  it  be  possible,  to  keep  secret 
what  occurred  between  us  to-day.  She 
deeply  regrets  the  attack  to  which  you 
fell  a  victim,  and  the -wound  you  have 
received  ;  and  she  will  try  to  persuade 
Bed  Cedar,  our  father,  to  retire  from 
your  estates." 

"Thank  your  sister  for  me,"  Don 
Pablo  answered.  "Tell  her  that  her 
slightest  wish  will  ever  be  a  command 
to  me,  and  that  I  shall  be  happy  to  exe 
cute  it." 

"  I  will  repeat  your  words  to  her." 

"  Thanks.  Render  me  a  parting  ser 
vice." 

"  Speak." 

"  What  is  your  sister's  name?" 

"  Ellen.  She  is  the  guardian  angel 
of  our  hearth.  My  name  is  Shaw." 

"  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  telling  me 
your  name,  though  1  cannot  guess  the 
reason  that  induces  you  to  do  so." 


"I  will  tell  you.  I  love  my  sister 
Ellen  before  all  :  she  urged  me  to  offer 
you  my  friendship.  1  obey  her.  lie- 
member,  stranger,  that  Shaw  is  yours 
to  the  death." 

"  I  shall  not  forget  it,  though  I  hope 
never  to  be  under  the  necessity  of  re 
minding  you  of  your  words." 

"  All  the  worse,"  the  American  said, 
with  a  shake  of  his  head ;  "  but  if  at 
any  time  the  opportunity  offers,  1  will 
prove  to  you  that  1  am  a  man  of  my 
word,  so  surely  as  I  am  a  Kentuckian." 

And  hurriedly  turning  his  horse's 
head,  the  young  rhan  rapidly  disap 
peared  in  the  windings  of  the  forest. 

Buffalo  Valley,  illumined  by  the  part 
ing  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  seemed  a 
lake  of  verdure  to  which  ihe  golden 
mist  of  night  imparted  magical  tones. 
A  light  breeze  rustled  through  t,he  lofty 
crests  of  the  cedars,  catalpas,  tulip  and 
Peru  trees,  and  agitated  the  grass  on 
the  banks  of  the  Eio  San  Pedro.  Don 
Pablo  let  the  reins  float  idly  on  his 
horse's  neck,  and  advanced  dreamily 
through  the  forest,  where  the  birds 
were  leaping  from  spray  to  spray,  each 
saluting  in  its  language  the  arrival  of 
night. 

An  hour  later,  the  young  man  reached 
the  hacienda;  but  the  wound  he  had  re 
ceived  in  his  shoulder  was  more  serious 
than  was  at  first  supposed.  He  was 
obliged,  to  his  great  regret,  to  keep  his 
bed,  winch  prevented  him  seeking  to 
meet  again  the  maiden  whose  image 
was  deeply  engraved  on  his  heart. 

So  soon  as  the  Mexican  had  gone  off, 
the  squatters  continued  felling  trees  and 
sawing  planks,  and  did  not  abandon  this 
work  till  the  night  had  grown  quite 
black.  Ellen  had  returned  to  the  in 
terior  of  the  jacal,  where  she  attended 
to  the  housekeeping  duties  with  her 
mother.  This  jacal  was  a  wretched  hut, 
hastily  made  with  branches  of  inter 
twined  trees,  which  trembled  with  every 
breeze,  and  let  the  sun  and  rain  pene 
trate  to  the  interior. 

This  cabin  was  divided  into  three 
compartments:  the  one  to  the  right 
served  as  the  bedroom  of  the  two  fe 
males,  while  the  men  slept  in  the  one 
to  the  left.  The  central  compartment, 
furnished  with  worm-eaten  benches  and 


36 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


a   clumsily-planed    table,  was  at   once 
keeping-room  and  kitchen. 

It  was  late  :  the  squatters,  assembled 
round  the  fire,  over  which  a  huge  pot 
was  boiling,  were  silently  awaiting  the 
return  of  Red  Cedar,  who  had  been  ab 
sent  since  the  morning.  At  length,  a 
horse's  hoofs  sounded  sharply  on  the 
detritus  collected  for  years  on  the  floor 
of  the  forest,  the  noise  grew  gradually 
nearer,  the  horse  stopped  in  front  of  the 
jacal,  and  a  man  made  his  appearance. 
It  was  Red  Cedar.  The  men  slowly 
turned  their  heads  toward  him,  but  did 
not  otherwise  disturb  -themselves,  or 
address  a  syllable  to  him. 

Ellen  alone  rose  and  embraced  her 
father  affectionately.  The  giant  seized 
the  girl  in  his  nervous  arms,  raised  her 
from  the  ground,  and  kissed  her  several 
times,  saying  in  his  rough  voice,  which 
his  tenderness  sensibly  softened  : 

"  Good  evening,  my  dear." 

Then  he  put  her  down  on  the  ground 
again,  and  not  troubling  himself  further 
about  her,  fell  heavily  on  a  bench  near 
the  fire,  and  thrust  his  feet  toward  the 
fire. 

"  Come,  wife,"  he  said,  after  the  ex 
piration  of  a  moment,  "  the  supper,  in 
the  fiend's  name  1  1  have  a  coyote's 
hunger." 

The  wife  did  not  let  this  be  repeated. 
A  few  moments  later  an  immense  dish 
of  frijoles,  with  pimento,  smoked  on  the 
table,  w.ith  large  pots  of  pulque.  The 
meal  was  short  and  silent,  the  four  men 
eating  with  extreme  rapacity.  So  soon 
as  the  beans  had  disappeared  Red  Cedar 
and  his  sons  lit  their  pipes,  and  began 
smoking,  while  drinking  large  draughts 
of  whiskey,  though  still  not  speaking. 
At  length  Red  Cedar  took  his  pipe  from 
h;s  lips,  and  hit  the  table  sharply,  while 
saying  in  a  rough  voice  : 

"  Come,  women,  decamp  !  You  have 
nothing  more  to  do  here.  You  are  in 
our  way,  so  go  to  the  deuce !" 

Ellen  and  her  mother  immediately 
went  out,  and  entered  their  separate 


apartment.     For   a   few  minutes   they 
:ould  be  heard  moving  about,  and  then 
all  became  silent  again. 

Red  Cedar  made  a  sign,  and  Sutter 
rose  and  gently  put  his  ear  to  the  part 
ing  board.  He  listened  for  a  few  mo 
ments  while  holding  his  breath,  and 
then  returned  to  his  seat,  saying  laconi 
cally  :  •» 

"  They  are  asleep." 

"  Quick,  my  whelps  !"  the  old  squat 
ter  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  We  have  not 
a  minute  to  lose:  the  others  are  expect 
ing  us." 

A  strange  scene  then  occurred  in  this 
mean  room,  which  was  merely  illu 
mined  by  the  expiring  light  of  the 
hearth.  The  four  men  arose,  opened 
a  large  chest,  and  produced  from  it 
various  objects  of  strange  shapes — leg- 
gins,  mittens,  buffalo  robes,  collars  of 
grizzly  bear  claws  ;  in  a  word,  the  com 
plete  costumes  of  Apache  Indians. 

The  squatters  disguised  themselves 
as  redskins  ;  and  when  they  had  put  on 
their  garments,  which  rendered  it  im 
possible  to  recognize  them,  they  com 
pleted  the  metamorphosis  by  painting 
their  faces  of  different  colors. 

Assuredly  the  traveller  whom  acci 
dent  had  brought  at  this  moment  to  the 
jacal  would  have  fancied  it  inhabited  by 
Apaches  or  Comanches. 

The  garments  which  the  squatters 
had  taken  off  were  locked  up  in  the 
chest,  of  which  Red  Cedar  took  the 
key  ;  and  the  four  men,  armed  with 
their  American  rifles,  left  the  cabin, 
mounted  their  horses,  which  were  await 
ing  them  ready  saddled,  and  started  at 
full  gallop  through  the  winding  forest 
paths. 

At  the  moment  they  disappeared  in 
the  gloom  Ellen  stood  in  the  doorway 
of  the  cabin,  took  a  despairing  glance  in 
the  direction  where  they  had  gone,  and 
fell  to  the  ground  murmuring  sadly  : 

"  Good  Heaven  !  what  diabolical 
work  are  they  going  to  perform  this 
night?" 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


37 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    RANGERS. 

ON  the  banks  of  the  Rio  San  Pedro, 
and  on  the  side  of  a  hill,  stood  a  ranche 
ria  composed  of  some  ten  cabins,  in 
habited  by  a  population  of  sixty  per 
sons  at  the  most,  including  men,  women 
and  children.  These  people  were  Co 
ras  Indians,  hunters  and  agriculturists, 
belonging  to  the  Tortoise  tribe.  These 
poor  Indians  lived  there  on  terms  of 
peace  with  their  neighbors,  under  the 
protection  of  the  Mexican  laws.  Quiet 
and  inoffensive  beings,  during  the  near 
ly  twenty  years  they  had  been  estab 
lished  at  this  place  they  had  never 
once  offered  a  subject  of  complaint  to 
their  neighbors,  who,  on  the  contrary, 
were  glad  to  see  them  prosper,  owing 
to  their  gentle  and  hospitable  manners. 
Though  Mexican  subjects,  they  govern 
ed  themselves  after  their  fashion,  obey 
ing  their  caciques,  and  regulating  in 
the  assembly  of  their  elders  all  the  dif 
ficulties  that  arose  in  their  village. 

On  the  night  when  we  saw  the  squat 
ters  leave  the  cabin  in  disguise,  some 
twenty  individuals,  armed  to  the  teeth 
and  clothed  in  strange  costums,  with 
their  faces  blackened  so  as  to  render 
them  unrecognizable,  were  bivouacked 
at  about  two  leagues  from  the  ranche- 
rie,  in  a  plain  on  the  river's  bank. 
Seated  or  lying  round  huge  fires,  they 
were  singing,  laughing,  quarrelling  or 
gambling  with  multitudinous  yells  and 
oaths.  Two  men  seated  apart  at  the 
foot  of  an  enormous  cactus,  were  con 
versing  in  a  low  tone,  while  smoking 
their  husk  cigarettes.  These  two  men, 
of  whom  we  have  already  spoken  to 
the  reader,  were  Fray  Ambrosio,  chap 
lain  to  the  Hacienda  de  la  Noria,  and 
Andres  Garote,  the  hunter. 

Andres  was  a  tall,  thin  fellow,  with 
a  sickly  and  cunning  face,  who  draped 
himself  defiantly  in  his  sordid  rags,  but 
whose  weapons  were  in  a  perfectly 
good  condition. 

Who  were  the  men  causing  this  dis 
turbance  ?  They  were  "  rangers,"  but 
this  requires  explanation. 

Immediately  after  each  of  the  differ 
ent  revolutions  which  have  periodically 


overturned  Mexico  since  that  country 
so  pompously  declared  its  indepen 
dence,  the  first  care  of  the  new  president 
who  reaches  power  is  to  dismiss  the 
volunteers  who  had  accideutly  swollen 
the  ranks  of  his  army,  and  supplied 
him  the  means  of  overthrowing  his  pre 
decessor.  These  volunteers,  we  must 
do  them  the  justice  of  allowing,  are  the 
very  scum  of  society,  and  the  most  de 
graded  class  human  nature  produces. 
These  sanguinary  men,  without  reli 
gion  or  law,  who  have  no  relations  or 
friends,  are  an  utter  leprosy  to  the 
country. 

Roughly  driven  back  into  society, 
the  new  life  they  are  forced  to  adopt 
in  no  way  suits  their  habits  of  murder 
and  pillage.  No  longer  able  to  wage 
war  on  their  countrymen,  they  form 
free  corps,  and  engage  themselves  for  a 
certain  salary,  to  hunt  the  Indios  Bra- 
vos — that  is  to  say,  the  Apaches  and 
Comanches — who  desolate  the  Mexican 
frontiers.  In  addition  to  this,  the  pa 
ternal  government  of  North  America  in 
Texas,  and  of  Mexico  in  the  States  of 
the  Confederation,  allots  them  a  certain 
sum  for  each  Indian  scalp  they  bring 
in. 

We  do  not  fancy  we  are  saying  any 
thing  new  in  asserting  that  they  are  the 
scourge  of  the  colonists  and  inhabitants, 
they  plunder  shamelessly  in  every  way 
when  they  are  not  doing  worse. 

The  men  assembled  at  this  moment 
on  the  banks  of  the  Rio  San  Pedro  were 
preparing  for  a  war  party — the  name 
they  give  to  the  massacres  they  organize 
against  the  redskins. 

Toward  midnight  Red  Cedar  and  his 
three  sons  reached  the  rangers'  camp. 
They  must  have  been  impatiently  ex 
pected,  for  the  bandits  received  them 
with  marks  of  the  greatest  joy  and  the 
warmest  enthusiasm.  The  dice,  the 
cards,  and  botas  of  mezcal  and  whiskey 
were  immediately  deserted.  The  ran-  A 
ers  mounted  their  horses,  and  grouped 
round  the  squatters,  near  whom  stood 
Fray  Ambrosio  and  his  friend  Andres 
Garote. 

Red  Cedar  took  a  glance  round  the 
mob,  and  could  not  repress  a  smile  of 
sride  at  the  sight  of  the  rich  collection 
of  bandits  of  every  description  whom 


38 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


he  had  around  him,  and  who  recognised 
him  as  chief.  He  extended  his  arm  to 
command  peace.  When  all  were  silent 
the  giant  took  the  word. 

"  Senores  caballeros,"  he  said,  in  a 
powerful  and  marked  voice,  which  made 
nil  these  scamps  quiver  with  delight  at 
being  treated  like  honest  people,  "  the 
audacity  of  the  redskins  is  growing  in 
tolerable.  If  we  let  them  alone  they 
would  soon  inundate  the  country,  when 
they  would  end  by  expelling  us.  This 
state  of  things  must  have  an  end.  The 
government  complains  about  the  few 
scalps  we  supply;  it- says  we  do  not 
carry  out  the  clauses  of  the  agreement 
we  have  formed  with  it ;  it  talks  about 
disbanding  us,  as  our  services  are  use 
less,  and  therefore  burdensome  to  the 
republic.  It  is  our  bounden  duty  to  give 
a  striking  denial  to  these  malevolent 
assertions,  and  prove  to  those  who  have 
placed  confidence  in  us  that  we  are  ever 
ready  to  devote  ourselves  to  the  cause 
of  humanity  and  civilisation.  I  have 
assembled  you  here  for  a  war-party, 
which  I  have  been  meditating  for  some 
lime,  and  shall  carry  out  this  night. 
We  are  abcut  to  attack  the  rancheria 
of  the  Coras,  who  for  some  years  past 
have  had  the  impudence  to  establish 
themselves  near  this  spot.  They  are 
pagans  and  thieves,  who  have  one  hun 
dred  times  merited  the  severe  chastise 
ment  we  are  about  to  inflict  on  them. 
But  I  implore  you,  senores  caballeros, 
display  no  mistaken  pity.  Crush  this 
race  of  vipers — let  not  one  escape  !  The 
scalp  of  a  child  is  worth  as  much  as 
that  of  a  man ;  so  do  not  let  yourselves 
be  moved  by  cries  or  tears,  but  scalp, 
scalp  to  the  end." 

This  harangue  was  greeted  as  it  de 
served  to  be — that  is,  by  yells  of  joy. 

"  Senores,"  Red  Cedar  continued, 
"the  worthy  monk  who  accompanies 
me  will  call  down  the  blessing  of  Heaven 
on  our  enterprise ;  so  kneel  down  to  re 
ceive  the  absolution  he  is  about  to  give 
you." 

The  bandits  instantaneously  dis 
mounted,  took  off  their  hats,  and  knelt 
on  the  sand.  Fray  Ambrosio  then  re 
peated  a  long  prayer,  to  which  they 
listened  with  exemplary  patience,  re 
peating  "amen"  after  each  occasion, 


and  he  ended  by  giving  them  absolu 
tion. 

The  rangers  rose,  delighted  at  being 
thus  freed  from  the  burden  of  their 
sins,  and  got  into  their  saddles  again. 

Red  Cedar  then  whispered  a  few 
words  in  Fray  Ambrosio's  ears,  who 
bowed  his  head  in  assent,  and  imme 
diately  set  out  in  the  direction  of  the 
Hacienda  de  la  Noria,  followed  by  An 
dres  Garote.  The  squatter  then  turned 
to  the  rangers,  who  were  waiting  his 
orders. 

"  You  know  where  we  are  going, 
gentlemen,"  he  said.  "  Let  us  start, 
and,  before  all,  be  silent,  if  we  wish  to 
catch  our  game  in  its  lair ;  for  you 
know  that  the  Indians  are  as  cunning  as 
opossums." 

The  band  started  at  a  gallop,  Red 
Cedar  and  his  sons  being  at  their  head. 
It  was  one  of  those  calm  nights  which 
predispose  the  soul  to  reverie,  such  as 
America  alone  has  the  privilege  of  pos 
sessing.  The  dark  blue  sky  was  span 
gled  with  ati  infinite  number  of  stars,  in 
the  centre  of  which  shone  the  majestic 
Southern  Cross,  sparkling  like  a  king's 
mantle  ;  the  atmosphere  was  extraordi 
narily  transparent,  and  allowed  objects 
to  be- noticed  at  a  great  distance;  the 
moon  profusely  spread  around  her  sil 
very  rays,  which  gave  the  scenery  a 
fantastic  appearance  ;  a  mysterious 
breeze  sported  through  the  tops  of  the 
great  trees  ;  and  at  times  vague  rumors 
traversed  the  space,  and  were  lost  in 
the  distance. 

The  gloomy  horsemen  still  went  on, 
silent  and  frowning,  like  the  phantoms 
of  the  ancient  legends,  which  glide 
through  the  shadows  to  accomplish  a 
deed  without  a  name.  At  the  ejid  of 
scarce  an  hour  the  rancheria  was  reach 
ed.  All  were  resting  in  the  village — 
not  a  light  flashed  in  the  hut.  The  In 
dians,  wearied  with  the  hard  toil  of  the 
day,  were  reposing,  full  of  confidence 
in  the  sworn  faith,  and  apprehending  no 
treason. 

Red  Cedar  halted  twenty  yards  from 
the  rancheria,  and  drew  up  his  horsemen 
so  as  to  surround  the  village  on  all 
sides.  When  each  had  taken  his  post, 
and  the  torches  were  lighted,  Red  Cedar 
uttered  the  terrible  war-cry  of  the  Apa- 


THE   TRAIL-HUNTER. 


39 


ches,  and  the  rangers  galloped  at  full 
speed  on  the  village,  uttering  ferocious 
howls,  arid  brandishing  the  torches, 
which  they  threw  on  the  cabins. 

A  scene,  of  carnage  then  took  place 
which  the  human  pen  is  powerless  to 
describe.  The  unhappy  Indians,  sur 
prised  in  their  sleep,  rushed  terrified 
iind  half  naked  out  of  their  poor 
abodes,  ind  were  pitilessly  massacred 
and  scalped  by  the  rangers,  who  waved 
with  a  demoniac  laugh  their  smoking-, 
blood-dripping  scalps.  Men,  women, 
and  children,  all  were  killed  with  re 
finements  of  barbarity.  The  village, 
fired  by  the  rangers'  torches,  soon  be 
came  an  immense  funebral  pile,  in 
which  victims  and  murderers  were 
huddled  pell-mell. 

Still  a  few  Indians  had  succeeded  in 
collecting.  Formed  in  a  compact  troop 
of  twenty  men,  they  opposed  a  des 
perate  resistance  to  their  assassins,  ex 
asperated  by  the  odor  of  blood  and  the 
intoxication  of  carnage.  At  the  head 
of  this  band  was  a  half  nude,  tall  Indian 
of  intelligent  features,  who,  armed  with 
a  ploughshare,  which  he  wielded  with 
extreme  force  arid  skill,  felled  all  the 
assailants  who  came  within  reach  of  his 
terrible  weapon.  This  man  was  the 
Cacique  of  the  Coras.  At  his  feet  lay 
his  mother,  wife,  and  two  children — 
dead.  The  unhappy  man  struggled 
with  the  energy  of  despair.  He  knew 
his  life  would  be  sacrificed,  but  he 
wished  to  sell  it  as  dearly  as  possible. 

In  vain  had  the  rangers  fired  on  the 
cacique — he  seemed  invulnerable:  not 
one  of  the  bullets  aimed  at  him  had 
struck  him.  He  still  fought,  and  the 
weight  of  his  weapon  did  not  seem  to 
fatigue  his  arm.  The  rangers  excited 
each  other  to  finish  him  ;  but  not  one 
dared  to  approach  him. 

But  this  combat  of  giants  could  not 
'endure  longer.  Of  the  twenty  com 
panions  he  had  round  him  on  commenc 
ing  the  struggle,  the  cacique  now  only 
saw  two  or  three  upright :  the  rest  were 
dead.  There  must  be  an  end.  The 
circle  that  inclosed  the  hapless  Indian 
drew  closer  and  closer.  Henceforth  it 
was  only  a  question  of  time  with  him. 
The  rangers,  recognising  the  impossi 
bility  of  conquering  this  lion-hearted 


man,  had  changed  their  tactics  :  they  no 
longer  attacked  him,  but  contented 
themselves  with  forming  an  impassable 
circle  round  him,  waiting  prudently  for 
the  moment  when  the  strength  of  the 
prey,  which  could  not  escape  them,  was 
exhausted,  in  order  to  rush  upon  him. 

The  Coras  understood  the  intention 
of  his  enemies.  A  contemptuous  smile 
contracted  his  haughty  lips,  and  he 
rushed  resolutely  toward  these  men 
who  recoiled  before  him.  Suddenly, 
with  a  movement  quicker  than  thought, 
he  threw  with  extraordinary  strength 
the  ploughshare  among  the  rangers,  and 
bounding  like  a  tiger,  leaped  on  a  horse, 
and  clutched  its  rider  with  superhuman 
vigor. 

Ere  the  rangers  had  recovered  from 
the  surprise  this  unforeseen  attack  occa 
sioned  in  them,  by  a  desperate  effort, 
and  still  holding  the  horseman,  the  chief 
tain  drew  from  his  girdle  a  short  sharp 
knife,  which  he  buried  up  to  the  hilt  in 
the  flanks  of  the  horse.  The  animal  ut 
tered  a  shriek  of  pain,  rushed  headlong 
into  the  crowd,  and  bore  both  away 
with  maddening  speed.  * 

The  rangers,  rendered  furious  at  being 
played  with  by«a  single  man,  and  seeing 
their  most  terrible  enemy  escape  them, 
started  in  pursuit;  but  with  his  liberty 
the  Coras  had  regained  all  his  energy : 
he  felt  himself  saved.  In  spite  of  the 
desperate  efforts  the  rangers  made  to 
catch  him  up,  he  disappeared  ia  the 
darkness. 

The  cacique  continued  to  fly  till  he 
felt  his  horse  tottering  under  him.  He 
had  not  loosed  his  hold  of  the  horseman, 
who  was  half  strangled  by  the  rude  em 
brace,  and  both  rolled  on  the  ground. 
This  man  wore  the  costume  of  the 
Apache  Indians.  The  Coras  regarded 
him  for  an  instant  attentively,  and  then 
a  smile  of  contempt  played  round  his 
lips. 

"  You  are  not  a  redskin,"  he  said,  in 
a  hollow  voice  ;  "  you  are  only  a  pale 
face  dog.  Why  put  on  the  skin  of  the 
lion  when  you  are  a  cowardly  coyote  ?" 

The  ranger,  still  stunned  by  the  fall 
he  had  suffered,  and  the  hug  lie  had  en 
dured,  made  no  reply. 

"  I  could  kill  you/'  the  Indian  con 
tinued;  "but  my  vengeance  would  not 


40 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


be  complete.  You  and  yours  must  pay 
me  for  all  the  innocent  blood  you  have 
shed  like  cowards  this  night.  I  will 
mark  you,  so  that  I  may  know  you 
again." 

Then,  with  fearful  coolness,  the  Coras 
threw  the  ranger  on  his  back,  put  his 
knee  on  his  chest,  and  burying  his  finger 
in  the  socket  of  his  eye,  gave  it  a  sharp 
rotatory  movement,  and  plucked  out 
his  eyeball.  On  this  frightful  mutila 
tion,  the  wretch  uttered  a  cry  of  pain 
impossible  to  describe.  The  Indian 
got  up. 

"  Go  !"  he  said  to  him.  "  Now  I  am 
certain  of  finding  you  again  whenever 
1  want  you." 

At  this  moment  the  sound  of  hoofs 
could  be  heard  a  short  distance  off:  the 
the  rangers  had  evidently  heard  their 
comrade's  cry,  and  were  hurrying  to 
his  aid.  'The  Coras,  rushed  into  the 
bushes  and  disappeared.  A  few  mo 
ments  later  the  rangers  came  up. 

"  Nathan,    rny    son !"     Red    Cedar 

shouted  as  he  leaped  from  his  horse  and 

^  threw    himself   on    the   body    of    the 

wounded  man.     "  Nathan,  my  firstborn, 

is  dead  !" 

"  No,"  one  of  the  rangers  answered ; 
"  but  he  is  very  bad." 

It  was  really  the  squatter's  eldest  son 
whom  the  cacique  had  mutilated.  Red 
Cedar  seized  him  in  his  arms,  placed 
him  before  him  on  the  saddle,  and 
the  band  started  again  at  a  gallop.  The 
rangers  had  accomplished  their  task  : 
they  had  sixty  human  scalps  hanging 
from  their  girdles.  The  rancheria  of 
the  Coras  was  no  longer  aught  save  a 
pile  of  ashes. 

Of  all  the  inhabitants  of  this  hapless 
village  only  the  cacique  survived  ;  but 
he  would  suffice  to  avenge  his  brothers. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  BUFFALO. 

DON  MIGUEL  ZARATE,  on  leaving  his 
son,  remounted  his  horse  and  rode 
straight  to  Paso,  to  the  house  of  Don 
Luciano  Perez,  thejuez  de  letras  (police 
magistrate). 

The  haciendero  was  one  of  the 
richest  landed  proprietors  in  the  coun-i 
try ;  and  as  he  was  thoroughly  ac 
quainted  with  the  spirit  of  the  deposi 
taries  of  justice  in  those  parts,  he  had 
consequently  been  careful  to  line  his 
purse  well.  Here  were  two  reasons, 
then,  to  interest  the  judge  in  his  favor, 
and  this  really  happened. 

The  worthy  Don  Luciano  shuddered 
on  hearing  the  details  of  what  had  oc 
curred  between  Don  Pablo  and  the 
squatters.  He  swore  that  he  would, 
without  delay,  take  an  exemplary  ven 
geance  for  this  starting  felony  on  the 
part  of  the  heretic  dogs,  and  that  it  was 
bigh  time  to  bring  them  reason.  Con 
firming  himself  more  and  more  in  his 
resolution,  he  buckled  on  his  sword, 
orders  to  twenty  well-armed  al- 
to  mount,  and  placing  himself 
at  the  head  of  this  numerous  escort,  he 
proceeded  toward  Buffalo  Valley. 

Don  Miguel  had  witnessed  with  secret 
annoyance  all  these  formidable  prepara 
tions.  He  placed  but  slight  confidence 
n  the  courage  of  the  policemen,  and  he 
would  have  preferred  the  judge  leaving 
lim  master  to  act  as  he  pleased.  He 
lad  even  adroitly  attempted  to  obtain 
rom  Don  Luciana  a  regular  warrant, 
which  he  would  have  executed  however 

might  think  proper  ;  but  the  judge, 
turning  with  an  unusual  warlike  ardor, 
and  spurred  on  by  the  large  sum  he  had 
•eceived,  would  listen  to  nothing,  but 
nsisted  on  himself  taking  the  head  of 
the  expedition. 

Don  Luciano  Perez  was  a  plump 
ittle  man  of  about  sixty  years  of  age, 
•ound  as  a  tub,  with  a  jolly  face,  adorn- 
id  with  a  rubicund  nose  and  two  cun 
ning  little  eyes.  This  man  cordially- 
detested  the  North  Americans ;  and,  in 
the  courageous  deed  he  was  committing 
at  this  moment,  hatred  was  as  much 
the  instigation  as  avarice. 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


41 


The  little  band  set  out  at  a  canter, 
and  proceeded  rapidly  toward  the  for 
est.  The  judge  hurled  fire  and  flames 
at  the  audacious  usurpers,  as  he  called 
them ;  he  spoke  of  nothing  less  than 
killing  them  without  mercy,  if  they  at 
tempted  even  the  slightest  resistance  to 
the  orders  he  was  about  to  give  them. 
Don  Miguel,  who  was  much  calmer, 
and  foreboded  no  good  from  this  great 
wrath,  sought  in  vain  to  pacify  him  by 
telling  him  that  he  would  in  all  proba 
bility  have  to  do  with  men  difficult  to 
intimidate,  against  whom  coolness 
would  be  the  best  weapon. 

They  gradually  approached.  The 
haciendero,  in  order  to  shorten  the 
journey,  had  led  the  band  by  a  cross 
road,  which  saved  at  least  one-third 
the  distance  ;  and  the  first  trees  of  the 
forest  already  appeared  about  two 
miles  off.  The  mischief  produced  by 
the  squatters  was  much  more  consider 
able  than  Don  Pablo  had  represented 
to  his  father ;  and,  at  the  first  glance, 
it  seemed  impossible  that,  in  so  short  a 
time,  four  men,  even  though  working 
vigorously,  could  have  accomplished 
it.  The  finest  trees  lay  on  the  ground; 
enormous  piles  of  planks  were  ar 
ranged  at  regular  distances,  and  on  the 
San  Pedro  an  already  completed  rait 
only  awaited  a  few  more  stems  of  trees 
to  be  thrust  into  the  water. 

Don  Miguel  could  not  refrain  from 
sighing  at  the  sight  of  the  devastation 
committed  in  one  of  his  best  forests; 
but  the  nearer  they  approached  the 
spot  where  they  expected  to  meet  the 
squatters,  the  more  lukewarm  grew 
the  ardor  of  the  judge  and  his  aco 
lytes,  and  the  haciendero  soon  found 
himself  compelled  to  urge  them  on, 
instead  of  restraining  them  as  he  had 
hitherto  done.  Suddenly  the  sound  of 
an  axe  re-echoed  a  few  paces  ahead  of 
tlie  band.  The  judge  impelled  by  the 
fueling  of  his  duty,  and  shame  of  ap-' 
[tearing  frightened,  advanced  boldly 
in  t  ie  direction  of  the  sound,  followed 
by  his  escort. 

"  Stop !"  a  rough  voice  shouted  at 
the  moment  the  policemen  turned  the 
corner  of  a  lane. 

^  ith  that  instinct  of  self-preserva 
tion  which  never  abandons  them,  the 


alguazils  stopped  as  if  their  horses' 
feet  had  been  suddenly  welded  to  the 
ground.  Ten  paces  from  them  stood  a 
man  in  the  centre  of  the  ride,  leaning 
on  an  American  rifle.  The  judge  turn 
ed  to  Don  Miguel  with  such  an  expres 
sion  of  hesitation  and  honest  terror  that 
the  haciendero  could  not  refrain  from 
laughing. 

"  Come,  courage,  Don  Luciano,"  he 
said  to  him.  "  This  man  is  alone  ;  he 
cannot  venture  to  bar  our  passage." 

"  Con  mil  diablos  !"  the  judge  ex 
claimed,  ashamed  of  this  impression 
which  he  could  not  master,  and  frown 
ing  portentiously,  "  forward,  you  fel 
lows,  and  fire  on  that  scoundrel  if  he 
make  but  a  sign  to  resist  you." 

The  alguazils  set  out  again  with  pru 
dential  hesitation. 

"  Stop  !  I  tell  you  again,"  the  squat 
ter  repeated.  "  Did  you  not  hear  the 
order  I  gave  you  ?" 

The  judge,  reassured  by  the  presence 
of  the  haciendero,  then  advanced,  and 
said  with  a  tone  which  he  strove  to 
render  terrible,  but  which  was  only 
ridiculous  through  the  terror  he  reveal 
ed  : 

"  I,  Don  Luciano  Perez,  juez  de 
letras  of  the  town  of  Paso,  have  come, 
by  virtue  of  the  powers  delegated  to 
me  by  the  Government,  to  summon 
you  and  your  adherents  to  quit  within 
twenty-four  hours  this  forest  you  have 
illegally  entered,  and  which " 

"'Ta,  ta !"  the  stranger  shouted, 
rudely  interrupting  the  judge,  and 
stamping  his  foot  savagely.  "  1  care  as 
much  for  all  your  words  and  laws  as  I 
do  fot  an  old  moccasin.  The  ground 
belongs  to  the  first  comers.  We  are 
comfortable  here,  and  mean  to  re 
main." 

"  Your  language  is  very  bold,  young 
man,"  Don  Miguel  then  said.  "  You 
do  not  consider  that  you  are  alone,  and 
that,  failing  other  rights,  we  have 
strength  on  our  side." 

The  squatter  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"You  believe  that,"  he  said. 
"  Learn,  stranger,  that  I  care  as  little 
for  the  ten  humbugs  I  now  have  before 
me  as  I  do  for  a  woodcock,  and  that 
they  will  dy  well  to  leave  me  at  peace, 
unless  they  want  to  learn  the  weight 


42 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


of  my  arm  at  their  expense.  How 
ever,  here  is  rny  lather ;  settle  it  with 
him." 

And  he  began  carelessly  whistling 
"  Yankee  Doodle."  At  the  same  in 
stant  three  men,  at  the  head  of  whom 
was  Red  Cedar,  appeared  on  the  path. 
At  the  sight  of  these  unexpected  rein 
forcements  for  their  arrogant  enemy 
the  alguazils  made  a  movement  in  re 
treat.  The  affair  was  becoming  singu 
larly  complicated,  and  threatened  to 
assume  proportions  very  grave  for 
them. 

"Halloh!  what's  up?"  the  old 
man  asked  roughly.  "  Anything  wrong, 
Sutler  ?" 

"  These  people,"  the  young  man  an 
swered,  shrugging  his  shoulders  con 
temptuously,  "are  talking  about  driving 
Us  from  the  forest  by  virtue  of  some 
order." 

"  Ilalloh  !"  Red  Cedar  said,  his  eyes 
flashing  as  he  cast  a  savage  glance  at 
the  Mexicans.  "  The  only  law  I  re 
cognise  in  the  desert,"  he  continued 
with  a  gesture  of  terrible  energy  as  he 
struck  his  rifle  barrel,  "  is  this..  With 
draw,  strangers,  if  you  do  not  wish 
blood  to  be  shed  between  us.  I  am  a 
peaceful  man,  wishing  to  do  no  one 
hurt ;  but  I  warn  you  that  1  will  not 
allow  myself  to  be  kicked  out  without 
striking  a  blow." 

41  You  will  not  be  turned  out,"  the 
judge  remarked  timidly  ;  "on  the  con 
trary,  you  have  seized  on  what  belongs 
to  other  people." 

"  I  won't  listen  to  your  arguments, 
which  I  do  not  understand,"  the  squat 
ter  roughly  exclaimed.  "  God  gave 
the  ground  to  man  that  he  might  labor 
on  it.  Every  proprietor  that  does  not 
fulfil  this  condition  tacitly  renounces 
his  rights,  and  the  earth  then  becomes 
the  property  of  the  man  who  tills  it 
with  the  sweat  of  his  brow;  so  go  to 
the  devil !  Be  ofTat  full  speed,  if  you 
do  not  wish  harm  to  happen  to  you  !" 
"  We  will  not  suffer  ourselves  to  be 
intimidated  by  your  threats,"  the  judge 
said,  impelled  by  his  anger,  and  forget 
ting  for  a  moment  his  alarm ;  "  we 
will  do  our  duty,  whatever  may  happen." 
"  Try  it,"  Red  Cedar  said  with  a 
grin. 


And  he  made  a  sign  to  his  sons. 
The  latter  arranged  themselves  in  a 
single  line,  and  occupied  the  entire 
width  of  the  path. 

"  In' the  name  of  the  law,"  the  judge 
said  with  energ}^,  as  he  pointed  out  the 
old  man,  "  alguazils,  seize  that  per 
son." 

But,  as  so  frequently  happens  under 
similar  circumstances,  this  order  was 
more  easy  to  give  than  to  execute.  Red 
Cedar  and  his  sons  did  not  appear  at  all 
disposed  to  let  themselves  be  collared. 
We  must,  however,  do  the  alguazils  the 
justice  cf  stating  that  they  did  not  hesi 
tate  for  a  moment.  They  plainly  re 
fused  to  carry  out  the  order  they  had 
received. 

"  For  the  last  time,  will  you  be  off?" 
the  squatter  shouted.  "  Let  them  have 
it." 

His  three  sons  raised  their  rifles.  At 
this  movement,  which  removed  all 
doubts  that  might  still  remain  on  their 
minds,  and  which  proved  to  them  that 
the  squatters  would  not  hesitate  to  pro 
ceed  to  extremities,  the  alguazils  were 
seized  with  an  invincible  terror.  They 
turned  bridle  and  galloped  off  at  lull 
speed,  followed  by  the  yells  of  the 
Americans. 

One  man  alone  remained  motionless 
before  the  squatters — Don  Miguel  Za- 
rate.  Red  Cedar  had  not  recognised 
him,  either  owing  to  the  distance  that 
separated  them,  or  because  the  haci- 
endero  had  purposely  pulled  over  his 
eyes  his  broad-brimmed  hat.  Don 
Miguel  dismounted,  placed  the  pistols 
from  his  holsters  through  his  belt,  fas 
tened  his  horse  to  a  tree,  and  coolly 
throwing  his  rifle  across  his  shoulders, 
boldly  advanced  toward  the  squatters. 
The  latter,  surprised  by  the  courage  of 
this  man,  who  alone  attempted  what  his 
comrades  had  given  up  all  hopes  of 
achieving,  let  him  corne  up  to  them 
without  offering  the  slightest  opposition. 
When  Don  Miguel  was  a  couple  of 
paces  from  the  old  squatter;  he  stopped, 
put  the  butt  of  his  rifle  on  the  ground, 
and  removing  his  hat,  said  : 

"  Do  you  recognise  me,  Red  Cedar?" 

"  Don   Miguel   Zarate !"  the    bandit 
shouted  in  surprise. 

"  As  the  judge  deserts  me,"  the  had- 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


43 


endero  continued,  "and  fled  like  a 
coward  before  your  threats,'!  am  ob 
liged  to  take  justice  for  myself,  and,  by 
heavens  !  1  will  do  so  !  Red  Cedar,  I, 
as  owner  of  this  forest,  in  which  you 
have  settled  without  permission,  order 
you  to  depart  at  once."  . 

The  young  men  exchanged  a  few  mut 
tered  threats. 

"  Silence  !"  Red  Cedar  commanded. 
"  Let  the  caballero  speak." 

"  1  have  finished,  and  await  your  an 
swer." 

The  squatter  appeared  to  reflect 
deeply  for  a  few  minutes. 

"The  answer  you  demand  is  difficult 
to  give,"  he  at  length  said  :  "  my  posi 
tion  toward  you  is  not  a  free  one." 

"  Why  so?" 

"  Because  I  owe  you  my  life." 

"  I  dispense  you  from  all  gratitude." 

'•  That  is  possible.  You  are  at  liberty 
to  do  so ;  but  I  cannot  forget  the  ser 
vice  you  rendered  me." 

"  It  is  of  little  consequence." 

"  Much  more  than  you  fancy,  cabal 
lero.  1  may  be,  through  my  character, 
habits,  and  the  mode  of  life  I  lead,  be 
yond  the  law  of  civilised  beings  ;  but  I 
am  not  the  less  a  man,  and  if  of  the 
worst  sort,  perhaps,  I  no  more  forget  a 
kindness  than  I  do  an  insult." 

"  Prove  it,  then,  by  going  away  as 
quickly  as  you  can,  and  then  we  shall 
be  quits." 

The  squatter  shook  his  head. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Don  Miguel,"  he  said. 
"You  have  in  this  country  the  reputa 
tion  of  being  the  providence-  of  the  un 
fortunate.  1  know  from  myself  the  ex 
tent  of  your  kindness  and  courage.  It 
is  said  that  you  possess  an  immense  for 
tune,  of  which  you  do  not  yourself  know 
the  extent." 

"  Well,  what  then1?"  the  haciendero 
impatiently  interrupted  him. 

"  The  damage  1  can  commit  here, 
even  if  I  cut  down  all  the  trees  in  the 
forest,  would  be  but  a  trifle  to  you  ; 
then  whence  comes  the  fury  you  display- 
to  drive  me  out!" 

"  Your  question  is  just,  and  I  will  an 
swer  it.  1  demand  your  departure 
from  my  estates,  because,  only  a  few 
days  back,  my  son  was  grievously 
•wounded  by  your  lads,  who  led  him 


[  into  a  cowardly  snare ;  and  if  he  es 
caped  death,  it  was  only  through  a  mi 
racle.  That  is  the  reason  why  we  can 
not  live  side  by  side,  for  blood  severs 
us." 

Red  Cedar  frowned. 

"Is  this  true?"  he  said,  addressing 
his  sons. 

The  young  men  only  hung  their  heads 
in  reply. 

"  I  am  waiting,"  Don  Miguel  went 
on. 

"  Come,  the  question  cannot  be  set 
tled  thus,  so  we  will  proceed  to  my 
jacal." 

"  For  what  purpose  ?  I  ask  you  for 
a  yes  or  no." 

"  I  cannot  answer  you  yet.  We 
must  have  a  conversation  together,  after 
which  you  shall  decide  as  to  my  future 
conduct.  Follow  me,  then,  without 
fear." 

"  I  fear  nothing,  as  I  believe  I  have 
proved  to  you.  Go  on,  as  you  demand 
it :  I  will  follow  you." 

Red  Cedar  made  his  sons  a  sign  to 
remain  where  they  were,  and  proceeded 
with  long  strides  toward  his  jacal,  which 
was  but  *a  short  distance  off.  Don 
Miguel  walked  carelessly  after  him. 
They  entered  the  cabin.  It  was  desert 
ed.  The  two  females  were  doubtless 
also  occupied  in  the  forest.  Red  Cedar 
closed  the  door  after  him,  sat  down  on 
a  bench,  made  his  guest  a  sign  to  do  the 
same,  and  began  speaking1  in  a  low  and 
measured  voice,  us  if  afraid  what  he 
had  to  say  might  be  heard  outside. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE       ASSASSINATION. 

"  LISTEN  to  me,  Don  Miguel,"  Red 
Cedar  said,  "  and  pray  do  not  mistake 
my  meaning.  I  have  not  the  slightest 
intention  of  intimidating  you,  nor  do  I 
think  of  attempting  to  gain  your  confi 
dence  by  revelations  which  you  may 
fairly  assume  1  have  accidentally  ac 
quired." 

The  haciendero  regarded  with  amaze 
ment  the  speaker,  whose  tone  and  man 
ner  had  so  suddenly  changed. 


44 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  he  said 
to  him.  "  Explain  yourself  more 
clearly,  for  the  words  you  have  just 
uttered  are  an  enigma,  the  key  to  which 
I  seek  in  vain." 

"  You  shall  be  satisfied,  caballero  ; 
and  if  you  do  not  catch  the  meaning  of 
my  words  this  time  it  must  be  because 
you  will  not.  Like  all  intelligent  men, 
you  are  wearied  of  the  incessant  strug 
gles  in  which  the  vital  strength  of  your 
country  is  exhausted  unprofitably. 
You  have  seen  that  a  land  so  rich,  so 
fertile,  so  gloriously  endowed  as  Mexi 
co,  could  not — I  should  say  ought  not 
— to  remain  longer  the  plaything  of 
paltry  ambitions,  and  the  arena  on 
which  all  these  transitory  tyrannies 
sport  in  turn.  For  nearly  thirty  years 
you  have  dreamed  of  emancipation,  not 
of  your  entire  country,  for  that  would 
be  too  rude  a  task,  and  unrealisable  ; 
but  you  said  to  yourself: 

"  '  Let  us  render  New  Mexico  inde 
pendent  ;  form  it  into  a  new  State, 
governed  by  wise  laws  rigorously  ex 
ecuted.  By  liberal  institutions  let  us 
give  an  impetus  to  all  the  riches  with 
•which  it  is  choked,  give  intellect  all  the 
liberty  it  requires,  and  perhaps  within 
a  few  years  the  entire  Mexican  Confe 
deration,  amazed  by  the  magnificent  re 
sults  I  shall  obtain,  will  follow  my  ex 
ample.  Then  I  shall  die  happy  at  what 
I  have  effected — my  object  will  be  car 
ried  out.  I  shall  have  saved  my  coun 
try  from  the  abyss  over  which  it  hangs, 
through  the  double  pressure  of  the  in 
vasion  of  the  American  Union  and  the 
exhaustion  of  the  Spanish  race.'  Are 
not  those  ideas  yours,  caballero?  Do 
you  consider  that  I  have  explained  my 
self  clearly  this  time  ?" 

"  Perhaps  so,  though  1  do  not  yet  see 
distinctly  the  point  you  wish  to  reach. 
The  thoughts  you  attribute  to  me  are 
such  as  naturally  occur  to  all  men  who 
sincerely  love  their  country,  and  1  will 
not  pretend  that  1  have  not  entertained 
them." 

"  You  would  be  wrong  in  doing  so, 
for  they  are  great  and  noble,  and 
breathe  the  purest  patriotism." 

"  A  truce  to  compliments,  and  let  us 
come  to  the  point,  for  time  presses." 

"  Patience :  I   have  not   yet  ended. 


These  ideas  must  occur  to  you  sooner 
than  to  another,  as  you  are  the  de 
scendant  of  the  first  Aztec  kings,  and 
born  defender  of  the  Indians  in  this 
hapless  country.  You  see  that  I  am 
well  acquainted  with  you,  Don  Miguel 
Zarate." 

"  Too  well,  perhaps,"  the  Mexican 
gentleman  muttered. 

The  squatter  smiled  and  went  on  : 

"  It  is  not  chance  that  led  me  to  this 
country.  I  knew  what  I  was  doing,  and 
why  I  came.  Don  Miguel,  the  hour  is 
a  solemn  one.  All  your  preparations 
are  made :  will  you  hesitate  to  give 
New  Mexico  the  signal  which  must 
render  it  independent  of  the  metropolis 
which  has  so  long  been  fattening  at  its 
expense1?  Answer  me." 

Don  Miguel  started.  He  fixed  on  the 
squatter  a  burning  glance,  in  which  ad 
miration  at  the  man's  language  could 
be  read.  Red  Cedar  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

"  What !  you  still  doubt  ?"   he  said. 

He  rose,  went  to  a  box  from  which 
he  took  some  papers,  and  threw  them  on 
the  tuble  before  the  haciendero,  saying  : 

"  Read." 

Don  Miguel  hurriedly  seized  the  pa 
pers,  and  ran  his  eye  over  them. 

"Well?"  he  asked,  looking  fixedly 
at  the  strange  speaker, 

"  You  see,"  the  squatter  answered, 
"  that  I  am  your  accomplice.  Gen 
eral  ibanez,  your  agent  in  Mexico,  is  in 
correspondence  with  me,  as  is  Mr. 
Wood,  your  agent  at  New  York." 

"  It  is  true,"  the  Mexican  said  coldly, 
"  you  have  the  secret  of  the  conspiracy. 
The  only  point  left  is  to  what  extent 
that  goes." 

"  I  possess  it  entirely.  I  have  or 
ders  to  enlist  the  volunteers  who  will 
form  the  nucleus  of  the  insurrectionary 
army." 

"  Good  !" 

"  Now,  you  see,  by  these  letters  of 
General  Ibanez  and  Mr.  Wood,  that  I 
am  commissioned  "by  them  to  come  to 
an  understanding  with  you, and  receive 
your  final  orders." 

"  1  see  it." 

"  What  do  you  purpose  doing  ?" 

"  Nothing." 

"  What,  nothing  !"  the   squatter  ex- 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


claimed,  bounding  with  surprise.  "  You 
are  jesting,  I  suppose." 

"  Listen  to  me  in  your  turn,  and  pay 
attention  to  my  words,  for  they  ex 
press  my  irrevocable  resolution.  I 
know  not  nor  care  to  know,  by  what 
means,  more  or  less  honorable,  you 
have  succeeded  in  gaining  the  confi 
dence  of  my  partners,  and  becoming 
master  of  our  secrets.  Still  it  is  my 
firm  conviction  that  a  cause  which  em 
ploys  such  men  as  yourself  is  compro 
mised,  if  not  lost ;  hence  I  renounce 
every  combination  in  which  you  are 
called  to  play  a  part.  Your  antece 
dents,  and  the  life  you  lead,  have 
placed  you  without  the  pale  of  the 
law." 

"  I  am  a  bandit — out  with  it !  What 
matter  so  long  as  you  succeed  ?  Does 
not  the  end  justify  the  means  ?" 

"  That  may  be  your  morality,  but  it 
will  never  be  mine.  I  repudiate  all 
community  of  ideas  with  men  of  your 
stamp.  I  will  not  have  you  either  as 
accomplice  or  partner." 

The  squatter  darted  a  look  at  him 
laden  with  hatred  and  disappointment. 

"  In  serving  us,"  Don  Miguel  contin 
ued,  "  you  can  only  have  an  interested 
object,  which  I  will  not  take  the  trou 
ble  of  guessing  at.  An  Anglo-Ameri 
can  will  never  frankly  aid  a  Mexican 
to  conquer  his  liberty;  he  would  lose 
too  much  by  doing  it." 

«  Then  ?" 

"  1  renounce  for  ever  the  projects  1 
had  formed.  I  had,  I  grant,  dreamed 
of  restoring  to  my  country  the  inde 
pendence  of  which  it  was  unjustly 
stripped :  but  it  shall  remain  a 
dream.'' 

"That  is  your  last  word?" 

"The  last!" 

"  You  refuse  ?" 

"  I  do." 

"  Good  ;  then  I  now  know  what  is 
left  me  to  do." 

"  Well,  what  is  it?  Let  me  hear," 
the  haciendero  said,  as  he  crossed  his 
arms  on  his  breast,  and  looked  him 
boldly  in  the  face. 

"  I  will  tell  you." 

"  1  am  waiting  for  you  to  do  so." 

"  I  hold  your  secret." 

"  Entirely  ?" 
3 


"  Hence  you  are  in  my  power." 

"  Perhaps." 

"  Who  will  prevent  me  going  to  the 
Governor  of  the  State  and  denouncing 
you  ?" 

"  He  will  not  believe  you." 

"You  think  so?' 

"  I  am  sure  of  it." 

"  Perhaps,  I  will  say  in  my  turn." 

"Why  so?" 

"  Oh  !  you  shall  easily  see." 

"  I  am  curious  to  learn  it." 

"However  rich  you  may  be,  Don 
Miguel  Zarate,  and  perhaps  because  of 
those  very  riches,  and  in  spite  of  the 
kindness  you  sow  broadcast,  the  num 
ber  of  your  enemies  is  very  consider 
able." 

"  1  know  it." 

"  Very  good.  Those  enemies  will 
joyfully  seize  the  first  opportunity  that 
presents  itself  to  destroy  you." 

"  It  is  probable." 

"  You  see,  then.  When  I  go  to  the 
governor  and  tell  him  you  are  conspir 
ing,  and,  in  support  of  my  denunciation, 
hand  him  not  only  these  letters,  but 
several  others  written  and  signed  by 
you,  lying  in  that  chest,  do  you  believe 
that  the  governor  will  treat  me  as  an 
impostor,  and  refuse  to  arrest  you?" 

"  Then  you  have  letters  in  my  hand 
writing?" 

"  I  have  three,  which  will  be  enough 
to  have  you  shot." 

"  Ah  !" 

"  Yes.  Hang  it  all !  you  understand 
that,  in  an  affair  so  important  as  this,  it 
is  wise  to  take  one's  precautions,  for  no 
one  knows  what  may  happen  ;  and  men 
of  my  stamp,"  he  added,  with  an  ironi 
cal  smile,  "'  have  more  reasons  than 
others  for  being  prudent." 

"  Come,  that  is  well  played,"  the 
haciendero  said,  carelessly. 

"Is  it  not?" 

"  Yes,  and  I  compliment  you  on  it : 
you  are  a  better  player  than  I  gave  you 
credit  for." 

"  Oh  !  you  do  not  know  me  yet." 

"  The  little  I  do  know  suffices  me." 

"  Then  ?" 

"  We  will  remain  as  we  are,  if  you 
will  permit  me." 

"  You  still  refuse  ?" 

"  More  than  ever." 


46 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


The  squatter  frowned. 

"  Take  care,  Don  Miguel,"  he  mut 
tered,  hoarsely.  "  I  will  do  what  I  told 
you." 

"  Yes,  if  I  allow  you  time." 

"  Eh  ?" 

"  Caspita !  if  you  are  a  clever  scamp, 
I  am  not  altogether  a  fool.  Do  you 
believe,  in  your  turn,  that  I  will  let  my 
self  be  intimidated  by  your  threats,  and 
that  I  should  not  find  means  to  keep 
you  from  acting,  not  for  my  own  sake, 
as  I  care  little  personally  for  what  you 
can  do,  but  for  my  friends,  who  are  men 
of  honor,  and  whose  lives  I  do  not  wish 
to  be  compromised  by  your  treachery1?" 

"  1  am  curious  to  know  the  means 
you  will  employ  to  obtain  this  result/' 

"  You  shall  see,"  Don  Miguel  replied 
with  perfect  coolness. 

"  Well?" 

"  I  shall  kill  you." 

"  Oh,  oh  !"  the  squatter  said,  as  he 
looked  complacently  at  his  muscular 
limbs,  "  that  is  not  easy." 

"  More  so  than  you  suppose,  my 
master." 

"  Hum  !  and  when  do  you  reckon  on 
killing  me  ?" 

"  At  once  !" 

The  two  men  were  seated  in  front  of 
the  hearth,  each  at  the  end  of  a  bench : 
the  table  was  between  them,  but  a  little 
back,  so  that  while  talking  they  only 
leaned  an  elbow  on  it.  While  uttering 
the  last  word,  Don  Miguel  bounded  like 
a  tiger  on  the  squatter,  who  did  not  at 
all  expect  the  attack,  seized  him  by  the 
throat,  and  hurled  him  to  the  ground. 
The  two  enemies  rolled  on  the  uneven 
flooring  of  the  jacal. 

The  Mexican's  attack  had  been  so 
sudden  and  well  directed  that  the  half- 
strangled  squatter,  in  spite  of  his  Her 
culean  strength,  could  not  free  himself 
from  his  enemy's  iron  clutch,  which 
pressed  his  throat  like  a  vice.  Red 
Cedar  could  neither  utter  a  cry*  nor 
offer  the  slightest  resistance  :  the  Mexi 
can's  knee  crushed  his  chest,  while  his 
fingers  pressed  into  his  throat. 

!So  soon  as  he  had  reduced  the  wretch 
to  utter  impotence,  Don  Miguel  drew 
from,  his  vaquera.  boot  a  long  sharp 
knife,  and  buried  the  entire  blade  in  his 
body.  The  bandit  writhed  convulsive 


ly  for  a  few  seconds;  a  livid  pallor 
suffused  his  face  ;  his  eyes  closed,  and 
he  then  remained  motionless.  Don 
Miguel  left  the  .weapon  in  the  wound, 
and  slowly  rose. 

"  Ah,  ah  !"  he  muttered  as  he  gazed 
at  him  with  a  sardonic  air,  "  1  fancy 
that  rogue  will  not  denounce  me  now." 

Without  loss  of  time  he  seized  the 
letters  lying  on  the  table,  took  from  the 
box  the  few  documents  he  found  in  it, 
hid  them  all  in  his  bosom,  opened  the 
door  of  the  cabin,  which  he  carefully 
closed  after  him,  and  went  off  with  long 
strides. 

The  squatter's  sons  had  not  quitted 
their  post ;  but,  so  soon  as  they  per 
ceived  the  Mexican,  they  went  up  to 
him. 

"  Well,"  Shaw  asked  him,  "  have  you 
come  to  an  understanding  with  the  old 
man  ?" 

"  Perfectly  so,"  the  Mexican  an 
swered.  , 

"  Then  the  affair  is  settled  " 

"  Yes,  to  our  mutual  satisfaction." 

"  All  the  better,"  the  young  men  ex 
claimed  joyously. 

The  haciendero  unfastened  his  horse 
and  mounted. 

"  Good- by,  gentlemen  !"  he  said  to 
them. 

"  Good-by  !"  they  replied,  returning 
his  bow. 

The  Mexican  put  his  horse  to  a  trot, 
but  at  the  first  turn  in  the  road  he  dug 
his  spurs  into  its  flanks,  and  started  at 
full  speed. 

"  Now,"  Sutter  observed,  "  I  be 
lieve  that  we  can  proceed  to  the  cabin 
without  inconvenience." 

And  they  gently  walked  toward  the 
jacal,  pleasantly  conversing  together. 

Don  Miguel,  however,  had  not  suc 
ceeded  so  tully  as  he  imagined.  Red 
Cedar  was  not  dead,  for  the  old  bandit 
kept  a  firm  hold  on  life.  Attacked  un 
awares,  the  squatter  had  not  attempted 
a  resistance,  which  he  saw  at  the  first 
glance  was  useless,  and  would  only  have 
exasperated  his  adversary.  With  mar 
vellous  sagacity,  on  feeling  the  knife 
blade  enter  his  body,  he  stiffened  him 
self  ayainst  the  pain,  and  resolved  on 
"  playing  'possum  ;"  that  is  to  say, 
feigrnhui  death.  The  success  of  his 

D          O 


THE    TRAIL-HtfNTER. 


47 


stratagem  was  complete.  Don  Miguel, 
persuaded  that  he  had  killed  him,  did 
not  dream  of  repeating  his  thrust. 

So  long  as  his  enemy  remained  in 
the  jacal  the  squatter  was  careful  not  to 
make  the  slightest  movement  that  might 
have  betrayed  him  ;  but,  so  soon  as  he 
was  alone,  he  opened  his  eyes,  rose  with 
an  effort,  drew  the  dagger  from  the 
wound,  which  emitted  a  jet  of  black 
blood,  and  looking  at  the  door,  through 
which  his  assassin  had  departed,  with  a 
glance  so  full  of  hatred  that  it  is  impos 
sible  to  describe,  he  muttered  : 

"  Now  we  are  quits,  Don  Miguel 
Zarate,  since  you  have  tried  to  take 
back  the  life  of  him  you  saved.  Pray 
God  never  to  bring  us  face  to  face 
again  !'' 

Pie  uttered  a  deep  sigh,  and  rolled 
heavily  on  the  ground  in  a  fainting  fit. 
At  this  moment  his  sons  entered  the 
cabin. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  SACHEM  OF  THE  CORAS. 

A  FEW  days  after  the  events  we  have 
described  in  the  previous  chapter  there 
was  one  of  those  lovely  mornings 
which  are  not  accorded  to  our  cold 
climates  to  know.  The  sun  poured 
down  in  profusion  its  warm  beams, 
which  caused  the  pebbles  and  sand  to 
glisten  in  the  walks  of  the  garden  of 
the  Hacienda  de  la  Noria.  In  a  clump 
of  flowering  orange  and  lemon  trees, 
whose  sweet  exhalations  perfumed  the 
jiir,  and  beneath  a  copse  of  cactus, 
nopals,  and  aloes,  a  maiden  was  asleep, 
carelessly  reclining  in  a  hammock  made 
of  the  thread  of  the  Phormium  tenax, 
which  hung  between  two  orange  trees. 

With  her  head  thrown  back,  her  long 
black  hair  unfastened,  and  falling  in 
disorder  on  her  neck  and  bosom ;  with 
her  coral  lips  parted,  and  displaying 
the  dazzling  pearl  of  her  teeth,  Dona 
Clara  (for  it  was  she  who  slept  thus 
with  an  infantile  slumber)  was  really 
charming.  Her  features  breathed  hap 
piness,  for  not  a  cloud  had  yet  arisen 
to  perturb  the  azure  horizon  of  her 
calm  and  tranquil  life. 


It  was  nearly  mid-day :  there  was 
not  a  breath  in  the  air.  The  sunbeams, 
pouring  down  vertically,  rendered  the 
heat  so  stifling  and  unsupportable,  that 
every  one  in  the  hacienda  had  yielded 
to  sleep,  and  was  enjoying  what  is  gen 
erally  called  in  hot  countries  the  siesta. 
Still,  at  a  short  distance  from  the  spot 
where  Dona  Clara  reposed,  calm  and 
smiling,  a  sound  of  footsteps,  at  first  al 
most  imperceptible,  but  gradually 
heightening,  was  heard,  and  a  man 
made  his  appearance.  It  was  Shaw, 
the  youngest  of  the  squatter's  sons. 
How  was  he  at  this  spot  ? 

The  young  man  was  panting,  and  the 
perspiration  poured  down  his  cheeks. 
On  reaching  the  entrance  of  the  clump 
he  bent  an  anxious  glance  on  the  ham 
mock. 

"  She  is  there,"  he  murmured  with  a 
passionate  accent.  "  She  sleeps." 

Then  he  fell  on  his  knees  upon  the 
sand,  and  began  admiring  the  maiden, 
dumb  and  trembling.  He  remained 
thus  a  long  time,  with  his  glance  fixed 
on  the  slumberer  with  a  strange  ex 
pression.  At  length  he  uttered  a  sigh 
and  tearing  himself  with  an  effort  from 
this  delicious  contemplation,  he  rose 
sadly,  muttering  in  a  whisper  : 

"  I  must  go — if  she  were  to  wake — 
oh,  she  will  never  know  how  much  I 
love  her  !" 

He  plucked  an  orange  flower,  and 
softly  laid  it  on  the  maiden ;  then  he 
walked  a  few  steps  from  her,  but  al 
most  immediately  returning,  he  seized, 
with  a  nervous  hand,  Dona  Clara's  rebozo, 
which  hung  down  from  the  hammock, 
and  pressed  it  to  his  lips  several  times, 
saying,  in  a  voice  broken  by  the  emo 
tion  he  felt :  "  It  has  touched  her  hair." 

And  rushing  from  the  thicket,  he 
crossed  the  garden  and  disappeared. 
He  had  heard  footsteps  approaching. 
In  fac.t,  a  few  seconds  after  his  departure, 
Don  Miguel,  in  his  turn,  entered  the 
copse. 

"  Come,  come,"  he  said  gaily,  as  ke 
shook  the  hammock,  "  sleeper,  will  you 
not  have  finished  your  siesta  soon  ?" 

Dona  Clara  opened  her  eyes,  with  a 
smile. 

"  I  am  no  longer  asleep,  father,"  she 
said. 


48 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


"Very  good.  That  is  the  answer  I 
like." 

And  he  stepped  forward  to  kiss  her ; 
but,  with  sudden  movement,  the  maid 
en  drew  herself  back  as  if  she  had  seen 
some  frightful  vision,  and  her  face  was 
covered  with  a  livid  pallor. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  T' 
the  haciendero  exclaimed  with  terror. 

The  girl  showed  him  the  orange  flow 
er. 

"  Well,"  her  father  continued,  "  what 
is  there  so  terrific  in  that  flower?  It 
must  have  fallen  from  the  tree  during 
your  sleep." 

Dona  Clara  shook  her  head  sadly. 

"  No,"  she  said  :  "  for  some  days 
past  I  have  always  noticed,  on  waking 
a  similar  flower  thrown  on  me." 

"  You  are  absurd ;  chance  alone  is 
to  blame  for  it  all.  Come,  think  no 
more  about  it ;  you  are  pale  as  death, 
child.  Why  frighten  yourself  thus 
about  a  trifle  ?  Besides  the  remedy 
may  be  easily  found.  If  so  afraid  of 
flowers  now,  why  not  take  your  siesta 
in  your  bedroom,  instead  of  burying 
yourself  in  this  thicket  ?" 

"  That  is  true,  father,"  the  girl  said, 
all  joyous,  and  no  longer  thinking  of 
the  fear  she  had  undergone.  "  I  will 
follow  your  advice." 

"  Come,  that  is  settled,  so  say  no 
more  about  it.  Now  give  me  a  kiss." 

The  maiden  threw  herself  into  her 
father's  arms,  whom  she  stifled  with 
kisses.  Both  sat  down  on  a  grassy 
mound,  and  commenced  one  of  those 
delicious  chit-chats  whose  charm  only 
those  who  are  parents  can  properly 
appreciate.  Presently  a  peon  came  up. 

"  What  has  brought  you  ?"  Don  Mi 
guel  asked. 

"  Excellency,"  the  peon  answered,  "a 
redskin  warrior  has  just  arrived  at  the 
hacienda,  who  desires  speech  with 
you." 

"  Do  you  know  him  ?"  Don  Miguel 
asked. 

"  Yes,  Excellency  ;  it  is  Eagle-wing, 
the  sachem  of  the  Coras  of  the  Rio  San 
Pedro." 

"  Mookapec  !"  the  haciendero  re 
peated  with  surprise.  "  What  can 
have  brought  him  to  me  ?  Lead  him 
here." 


The  peon  retired,  and  in  a  few  min 
utes  returned,  preceding  Eagle-wing. 

The  chief  hud  donned  the  great  war 
dress  of  the  sachems  of  his  nation.  His 
hair,  plaited  with  the  skin  of  a  rattle 
snake,  was  drawn  up  on  the  top  of  his 
head ;  in  the  centre  an  eagle  plume  was 
affixed.  A  blouse  of  striped  calico, 
adorned  with  a  profusion  of  bells,  de 
scended  to  his  thighs,  which  were  de 
fended  from  the  stings  of  mosquitos  by 
drawers  of  the  same  stuff*.  He  wore 
moccasins  made  of  peccari  skin,  adorned 
with  glass  beads  and  porcupine  quills. 
To  his  heels  were  fastened  several 
wolves'  tails,  the  distinguishing  mark  of 
renowned  warriors.  Round  his  loins 
was  a  belt  of  elk-hide,  through  which 
passed  his  knife,  his  pipe  and  his  medi 
cine-bag.  His  neck  was  adorned  by  a 
collar  of  grizzly  bear  claws  and  buffa 
lo  teeth.  Finally,  a  magnificent  robe 
of  a  white  female  buffalo  hide,  painted 
red  inside,  was  fastened  to  his  shoul 
ders,  and  fell  down  behind  him  like  a 
cloak.  In  his  right  hand  he  held  a  fan 
formed  of  a  single  eagle's  wing,  and  in 
his  left  hand  an  American  rifle.  There 
was  something  imposing  and  singularly 
martial  in  the  appearance  and  demean 
or  of  this  savage  child  of  the  forest. 

On  entering  the  thicket,  he  bowed 
gracefully  to  Dona  Clara,  and  then  stood 
motionless  and  dumb  before  Don 
Miguel.  The  Mexican  regarded  him 
attentively,  and  saw  an  expression  of 
gloomy  melancholy  spread  over  the  In 
dian  chief's  features. 

"  My  brother  is  welcome,"  the  haci 
endero  said  to  him.  "  To  wh  it  do  I 
owe  the  pleasure  of  seeing  him  ?" 

The  chief  cast  a  side-glance  at  the 
maiden.  Don  Miguel  understood  what 
he  desired,  and  made  Dona  Clara  a  sign 
to  withdraw.  They  remained  alone. 

"  My  brother  can  speak,"  the  hacien 
dero  then  said ;  "  the  ears  of  a  friend 
are  open." 

"  Yes,  my  father  is  good,"  the  chief 
replied  in  his  guttural  voice.  "  He 
loves  the  Indians :  unhappily  all  the 
palefaces  do  not  resemble  him." 

"  What  does  my  brother  mean  ?  Has 
he  cause  to  complain  of  any  one  ?" 

The  Indian  smiled  sadly. 

"  Where  is  there  justice  for  the  red 


THE   TRAIL-HUNTER. 


49 


skins?"  he  said.  "The  Indians  are 
aninuils:  the  Great  Spirit  has  not  given 
them  a  soul,  as  He  has  done  for  the 
palelaces,  and  it  is  not  a  crime  to  kill 
them." 

"  Come,  chief,  pray  do  not  speak 
longer  in  riddles,  but  explain  why  you 

ve  quitted  your  tribe.  It  is  far  from 
Rio  San  Pedro  to  this  place." 

"  Mookapec  is  alone :  his  tribe  no 
longer  exists." 

"  How  ?" 

"  The  palefaces  came  in  the  night, 
ike  jaguars  without  courage.  They 
uurned  the  village,  and  massacred  all 
the  inhabitants,  even  to  the  women  and 
ittle  children." 

"Oh,  that  is  frightful!"  the  hacien- 
dero  murmured,  in  horror. 

"  Ah !"  the  chief  continued  with  an 
accent  full  of  terrible  irony,  "  the  scalps 
of  the  redskins  are  sold  dearly/' 

"  And  do  you  know  the  men  who 
ommitted  this  atrocious  crime  ?" 

"  Mookapec  knows  them,  and  will 
avenge  himself." 

"Tell  me  their  chief,  if  you  know  his 
name." 

"  I  know  it.  The  palefaces  call  him 
Eled  Cedar,  the  Indians  the  Man-eater." 

"  Oh !  as  for  him,  chief,  you  are 
avenged,  for  he  is  dead." 

"  My  father  is  mistaken." 

"  How  so?  Why,  I  killed  him  mv- 
self." 

The  Indian  shook  his  head. 

"  Red  Cedar  has  a  hard  life,"  he  said  : 

the  blade  of  the  knife  rny  father  used 
was  too  short.  Red  Cedar  is  wounded, 
but  in  a  few  days  he  will  be  about 
again,  ready  to  kill  and  scalp  the  Indi 
ans." 

This  news  startled  the  haciendero  : 
the  enemy  he  fancied  he  had  got  rid  of 
still  lived,  and  he  would  have  to  begin 
a  fresh  struggle. 

"  My  father  must  take  care,"  the 
chief  continued.  "  Red  Cedar  has 
sworn  to  be  avenged." 

"  Oh  !  1  will  not  leave  him  the  time. 
This  man  is  a  demon,  of  whom  the 
earth  must  be  purged  at  all  hazards, 
before  his  strength  has  returned,  and  he 
begins  his  assassinations  again." 

"J  will  aid  my  father  in  his  ven 
geance." 


"  Thanks,  chief.  I  do  not  refuse  your 
offer :  perhaps  I  shall  soon  need  the 
help  of  all  my  friends.  And  now, 
what  do  you  purpose  doing  ?" 

"  Since  the  palefaces  reject  him, 
Eagle-wing  will  retire  to  the  desert. 
He  has  friends  among  the  Comanches. 
They  are  redskins,  and  will  welcome 
him  gladly." 

"  1  will  not  strive  to  combat  your  de 
termination,  chief,  for  it  is  just ;  and  if, 
at  a  later  date,  you  take  terrible  repri 
sals  on  the  white  men,  they  will  have 
no  cause  of  complaint,  for  they  have  * 
brought  it  on  themselves.  When  does 
my  brother  start?"  . 

"  At  sunset." 

"  Rest  here  to-day :  to-morrow  will 
be  soon  enough  to  set  out." 

"  Mookapec  must  depart  this  day." 

"  Act  as  you  think  proper.  Have 
you  a  horse  ?" 

"  No  ;  but  at  the  first  manada  I  come 
to  I  will  lasso  one." 

"  I  do  not  wish  you  to  set  out  thus, 
but  will  give  you  a  horse." 

"Thanks;  my  father  is  good.  The 
Indian  chief  will  remember " 

"  Come,  you  shall  choose  for  your 
self."  . 

"  I  have  still  a  few  words  to  say  to 
rny  father." 

"Speak,  chief;  I  am  listening  to 
you." 

"  Koutonepi,  the  pale  hunter,  begged 
me  to  give  my  father  an  important 
warning." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  A  great  danger  threatens  my  father. 
Koutonepi  wishes  to  see  him  as  soon  as 
possible,  in  order  himself  to  tell  him  its 
nature." 

"  Good  !  My  brother  will  tell  the 
hunter  that  I  shall  be  to-morrow  at  the 
'  clearing  of  the  shattered  oak,'  and 
await  him  there  till  night." 

"  I  will  faithfully  repeat  my  father's 
words  to  the  hunter." 

The  two  men  then  quitted  the  gar 
den,  and  hurriedly  proceeded  toward 
the  hacienda.  Don  Miguel  let  the 
chief  choose  his  own  horse,  and 
while  the  sachem  was  harnessing  his 
steed  in  the  Indian  fashion,  he  withdrew 
to  his  bedroom,  and  sent  for  his  son  to 
join  him.  The  young  man  had  perfect- 


50 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


ly  recovered  from  his  wound.  His 
father  told  him  that  he  was  obliged  to 
absent  himself  for  some  days  :  he  in 
trusted  to  him  the  management  of  the 
hacienda,  while  recommending  him  on 
no  consideration  to  leave  the  farm,  and 
to  watch  attentively  over  his  sister. 
The  young  man  promised  him  all  he 
wished,  happy  at  enjoying  perfect 
liberty  for  a  few  days. 

After  embracing  his  son  and  daughter 
for  the  last  time  Don  Miguel  proceeded 
to  the  patio,  where  in  the  mean  while, 
the  chief  had  been  amusing  himself  by 
making  the  magnificent  horse  he  had 
chosen  curvet.  Don  Miguel  admired 
for*several  moments  the  Indian's  skill 
and  grace,  for  he  managed  a  horse  as 
well  as  the  first  Mexican  ginete  ;  th*;-. 
mounted,  and  the  two  men  proceeded 
together  toward  the  Paso  del  Norte, 
which  they  must  cross  in  order  to  en 
ter  the  desert,  and  reach  the  clearing  of 
the  shattered  oak. 

The  journey  passed  in  silence,  for  the 
two  men  were  deeply  reflecting.  At 
the  moment  they  entered  Paso  the  sun 
was  setting  on  the  horizon  in  a  bed  of 
red  mist,  which  foreboded  a  storm  for 
the  night.  At  the  entrance  of  the  vil 
lage  they  separated ;  and  on  the  mor 
row,  as  we  have  seen  in  our  first  chap 
ter,  Don  Miguel  set  out  at  daybreak, 
and  galloped  to  the  clearing. 

We  will  now  end  this  lengthy  paren 
thesis,  which  was,  however,  indispens 
able  for  the  due  comprehension,  of  the 
facts  that  are  about  to  follow,  and  take 
up  our  story  again,  at  the  point  where 
we  left  it. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

CONVERSATION. 

VALENTINE  GUILLOIS,  whom  we  have 
already  introduced  to  the  reader  in  pre 
vious  works  (See  "  Tiger-Slayer,"  etc.), 
had  inhabited,  or,  to  speak  more  cor 
rectly,  traversed  the  vast  solitudes  of 
Mexico  and  Texas  during  the  past  five 
or  six  years.  We  saw  him  just  now 
accompanied  by  the  Araucano  chief. 
These  two  men  were  the  boldest  hunters 


on  the  frontier.  At  times,  when  they 
had  collected  an  ample  harvest  of  furs, 
they  went  to  sell  them  in  the  villages, 
renewed  their  stock  of  powder  and  ball, 
purchased  a  few  indispensable  articles, 
and  then  returned  to  the  desert. 

Now  and  then  they  engjiged  them 
selves  for  a  week,  or  even  a  fortnight, 
with  the  proprietors  of  the  haciendas,  to 
free  them  from  the  wild  beasts  that 
desolated  their  herds;  but  so  soon  as 
the  ferocious  animals  were  destroyed, 
and  the  reward  obtained,  no  matter  the 
brilliancy  of  the  offers  made  them  by 
the  land-owners,  the  two  men  threw 
their  rifles  on  their  shoulders  and  went 
off. 

No  one  knew  who  they  were,  or 
whence  they  came.  Valentine  and  his 
friend  maintained  the  most  complete  si 
lence  as  to  the  events  of  their  life  which 
had  preceded  their  appearance  in  these 
parts.  Only  one  thing  had  betrayed 
the  nationality  of  Valentine,  whom  his 
comrade  called  Koutonepi,  a  word  be 
longing  to  the  language  of  the  Aucas, 
and  signifying  "  The  Valiant."  On  his 
chest  the  hunter  wore  the  cross  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor.  The  deeds  of  every 
description  performed  by  these  hunters 
were  incalculable,  and  their  stories  were 
the  delight  of  the  frontier  dwellers  dur 
ing  the  winter  night.  The  number  of 
tigers  they  had  killed  was  no  longer 
counted. 

Chance  had  one  day  made  them  ac 
quainted  with  Don  Miguel  Zarate  under 
strange  circumstances,  and  since  then  au 
uninterrupted  friendship  had  been  main 
tained  between  them.  Don  Miguel, 
during  a  tempestuous  night,  namely, 
had  only  owed  his  life  to  the  accuracy 
of  Valentine's  aim,  who  sent  a  bullet 
through  the  head  of  the  Mexican's  horse 
at  the  moment  when,  mad  with  terror, 
and  no  longer  obeying  the  bridle,  it  was 
on  the  point  of  leaping  into  an  abyss 
with  its  master.  Don  Miguel  had 
sworn  eternal  gratitude  to  his  saviour. 

Valentine  and  Curumilla  had  made 
themselves  the  tutors  of  the  haciendero's 
children,  who,  for  their  part,  felt  a  deep 
friendship  for  the  hunters.  Don  Pablo 
had  frequently  made  long  hunting  par 
ties  in  the  desert  with  them  ;  and  it 
was  to  them  he  owed  the  certainty  of 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


51 


his  aim,  his  skill  in  handling  weapons, 
and  his  knack  in  taming  horses. 

No  secrets  existed  between  Don 
Miguel  and  the  hunters :  they  read  in 
his  mind  as  in  an  ever-open  hook. 
They  were  the  disinterested  confidants 
of  his  plans :  for  these  rude  wood- 
rangers  esteemed  him,  and  only  requir 
ed  lor  themselves  one  thing — the  liber 
ty  of  the  desert.  Still,  despite  the 
sympathy  and  friendship  which  so 
closely  connected  these  different  per 
sons,  and  the  confidence  which  formed 
the  basis  of  that  friendship,  Don  Mi 
guel  and  his  children  had  never  been 
able  to  obtain  from  the  hunters  infor 
mation  as  to  the  events  that  had  passed 
prior  to  their  arrival  in  this  country. 

Frequently  Don  Miguel,  impelled, 
not  by  curiosity,  but  merely  by  the  in 
terest  he  felt  in  them,  had  tried,  by 
words  cleverly  thrown  into  the  conver 
sation,  to  give  them  an  opening  for  con 
fidence  ;  but  Valentine  had  always  re 
pelled  those  hints,  though  cleverly 
enough  for  Don  Miguel  not  to  feel  of 
fended  by  this  want  of  confidence. 
With  Curumilla  they  had  been  even 
more  simple.  Wrapped  in  his  Indian 
stoicism,  intrenched  in  his  habitual 
sullenness,  he  was  wont  to  answer  all 
questions  by  a  shake  of  the  head,  but 
nothing  further. 

At  length,  weary  of  the  attempt,  the 
haciendero  and  his  family  had  given  up 
trying  to  read  those  secrets  which  their 
friends  seemed  obstinately  determined 
to  keep  from  them.  Still  the  friendship 
subsisting  between  them  had  not  grown 
cold  in  consequence,  and  it  was  always 
with  equal  pleasure  that  Don  Miguel 
met  the  hunters  again  after  a  lengthen 
ed  ramble  in  the  prairies,  which  kept 
them  away  from  his  house  for  whole 
months  at  a  time. 

The  hunter  and  the  Mexican  were 
seated  by  the  fire,  while  Curumilla, 
armed  with  his  scalping-knife,  was 
busy  flaying  the  two  jaguars  so  skillful 
ly  killed  by  Don  Miguel,  and  which 
were  magnificent  brutes. 

"  Eh,  compadre  /"  Don  Miguel  said 
vith  a  laugh;  "  1  was  beginning  to  lose 
patience,  and  fancy  you  had  forgotten 
the  meeting  you  had  yourself  given 
me." 


"  I  never  forgot  anything,  as  you 
know,"  Valentine  answered  seriously  ; 
"  a'id  if  I  did  not  arrive  sooner,  it  was 
because  the  road  is  long  from  my  jacal 
to  this  clearing." 

"  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  re 
proach  you,  my  friend !  Still  I  con 
fess  to  you  that  the  prospect  of  pass 
ing  the  night  alone  in  this  torest  only 
slightly  pleased  me,  and  I  should  have 
been  off  had  you  not  arrived  before 
sunset." 

•  "  You  would  have  done  wrong,  Don 
Miguel :  what  I  have  to  tell  you  is  o( 
the  utmost  importance  to  you.  Who 
knows  what  the  result  might  have  been 
had  I  not  been  able  to  warn  you?'' 

"  You  alarm  me,  my  friend." 

"  I  will  explain.  In  the  first  place 
let  me  tell  you  that  you  committed,  a 
few  days  back,  a  grave  imprudence, 
whose  consequences  threaten  to  be  most 
serious  for  you." 

'•What  is  it?" 

"  1  said  one,  but  ought  to  have  said 
two." 

"  I  am  waiting  till  you  think  proper 
to  express  yourself  more  clearly,"  Don 
Miguel  said  with  a  slight  tinge  of  im 
patience,  "  before  I  answer." 

"  You  have  quarrelled  with  a  North 
American  bandit." 

"  Red  Cedar." 

"Yes;  and  when  you  had  him  in 
your  power  you  let  him  escape,  instead 
of  killing  him  out  and  out." 

"That  is  true,  and  f  was  wrong. 
What  would  you  1  The  villain  has  as 
tough  a  life  as  an  alligator.  But  be  at 
ease.  If  ever  he  fall  into  my  hands 
again,  1  swear  that  I  will  not  miss 
him." 

"  In  the  mean  while  you  did  do  so — 
that  is  the  evil." 

"  Why  so?" 

"  You  will  understand  me.  This 
man  is  one  of  those  villains,  the  scum 
of  the  United  States,  too  many  of 
whom  have  lived  on  the  frontier  during 
the  last  few  years.  1  do  not  know 
how  he  contrived  to  deceive  your  New 
York  agent ;  but  he  gained  his  confi 
dence  so  cleverly  that  the  laiter  told 
him  all  the  secrets  he  knew  about  your 
enterprise." 

"  He  told  me  so  himself,'' 


52 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


"  Very  good.  It  was  then,  I  suppose, 
that  yuu  stabbed  him  ?" 

"Yes,  and  at  the  same  time  I 
plucked  out  his  claws  ;  that  is  to  say,  I 
seized  the  letters  he  held,  and  which 
might  compromise  me." 

"  A  mistake.  This  man  is  too 
thorough-paced  a  scoundrel  not  to  fore 
see  all  the  chances  of  his  treason.  He 
had  a  last  letter,  the  most  important  of 
all  ;  and  that  you  did  riot  take  from 
him." 

"  I  took  three." 

"  Yes,  but  there  were  four.  As  the 
last,  however,  in  itself  was  worth  as 
much  as  the  other  three,  he  always 
wore  it  about  him  in  a  leathern  bag 
hung  round  his  neck  by  a  steel  chain  ; 
you  did  not  dream  of  looking  for 
that." 

"  But  what  importance  can  this  let 
ter,  I  do  not  even  remember  writing, 
possess,  that  you  should  attach  such 
weight  to  it  ?" 

"  It  is  merely  the  agreement  drawn 
up  between  yourself,  General  Ibanez, 
and  Mr.  Wood,  and  bearing  your  three 
signatures." 

"  Con  mil  demonios  !"  the  haciende- 
ro  exclaimed  in  terror.  "  In  that  case 
I  am  lost ;  for  if  this  man  really  pos 
sesses  such  a  document,  he  will  not  fail 
to  employ  it  in  order  to  be  revenged 
on  me." 

"  Nothing  is  lost  so  long  as  a  man's 
heart  beats  in  his  breast,  Don  Miguel. 
The  position  is  critical,  I  allow,  but  1 
have  saved  myself  in  situations  far 
more  desperate  than  the  one  you  are 
now  in." 

"What  is  to  be  done?" 

"  Red  Cedar  has  been  about  again 
for  two  days.  His  first  care,  so  soon 
as  he  could  sit  a  horse,  was  to  go  to 
Santa  Fe,  the  capital  of  New  Mexico, 
and  denounce  you  to  the  Governor. 
That  has  nothing  to  surprise  you  from 
such  a  man.1' 

"  Then  I  can  only  fly  as  speedily  as 
I  can  ?" 

"  Wait.  Every  man  has  in  his 
heart  at  least  one  of  the  seven  deadly 
sins  as  a  bait  for  the  demon." 

"  What  are  you  driving  at?" 
"  You  will  see.     Fortunately  for  us, 
Red   Cedar  has  them  all   seven,  I    be 


lieve,  in  the  finest  stage  of  develop 
ment.  Avarice,  before  all,  has  reached 
its  acme  with  him." 

"Well?" 

"  This  happened.  Our  man  de 
nounced  you  to  the  governor  as  a  con 
spirator,  etc.,  but  was  careful  not  to 
give  up  the  proof's  he  possessed  in  sup 
port  of  the  denunciation  at  the  outset. 
When  General  Isturitz,  the  governor 
asked  him  for  these  proofs,  he  answered  , 
that  he  was  ready  to  supply  them  in 
exchange  for  the  sum  of  one  hundred 
thousand  piastres*  in  gold." 

"  Ah !"  the  haciendero  said,  with  a 
breath  of  relief,  "and  what  did  Isturitz 
say  ?" 

"  The  general  is  one  of  your  most  in 
veterate  enemies,  1  grant,  and  he  would 
give  a  good  deal  for  the  pleasure  of 
having  you  shot." 

"  That  is  true." 

"  Yes,  but  still  the  sum  appeared  to 
him,  as  it  really  is,  exorbitant,  the  more 
so  as  he  would  have  to  pay  it  all  him 
self,  as  the  government  does  not  recog 
nise  transactions  of  that  nature." 

"Well,  what  did  Red  Cedar  do 
then  r 

"  He  did  not  allow  himself  beaten  ; 
on  the  contrary,  he  told  the  general  he 
wculd  give  him  a  week  to  reflect,  and 
quietly  left  the  Cabildo." 

"  Hum !  and  on  what  day  was  this 
visit  paid  ?" 

"Yesterday  morning;  so  that  you 
have  six  days  still  left  for  action." 

"  Six  days — that  is  very  little." 

"  Eh  ?"  the  Frenchman  said,  with  a 
shrug  of  his  shoulders  impossible  to 
describe.  "  In  my  country " 

"Yes,  but  you  are  Frenchmen." 

"That  is  true:  hence  I  allow  you 
twice  the  time  we  should  require. 
Come,  let  us  put  joking  aside.  You  are 
a  man  of  more  than  common  energy  ; 
you  really  wish  the  welfare  of  your 
country,  so  do  not  let  yourself  be 
crushed  by  the  first  reverse.  Who 
knows  but  that  it  may  all  be  for  the 
best?" 

"  Ah,  my  friend,  I  am  alone  !  Gene 
ral  Ibanez,  who  alone  could  help  me  in 
this  critical  afluir,  is  fifty  leagues  off. 
What  can  I  do  ?  Nothing." 

"All.      I    foresaw    your    objection. 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


53 


Eacle-wing,  the  Chief  of  the  Coras,  has 
gone  from  me  to  warn  the  general. 
You  know  with  what  speed  Indians 
travel ;  so  he  will  bring  us  the  general 
in  a  few  hours,  I  feel  convinced." 

Don  Miguel  regarded  the  hunter  with 
mingled  admiration  and  respect. 

"  You  have  done  that,  my  friend  ?" 
he  said  to  him  as  he  warmly  pressed 
his  hand. 

"  By  Jove !"  Valentine  said,  gaily, 
"  I  have  done  something  else  too. 
When  the  time  arrives  I  will  tell  you 
what  it  is.  But  let  us  not  lose  an  hour. 
What  do  you  intend  to  do  for  the  pre 
sent  ?" 

"  Act." 

"  Good  :  that  is  the  way  I  like  to 
hear  you  talk." 

"  Yes,  but  I  must  first  come  to  an 
understanding  with  the  general." 

"  That  is  true ;  but  it  is  the  least 
thing,"  Valentine  answered,  as  he  looked 
skyward,  and  attentively  consulted  the 
position  of  the  stars.  "  It  is  now  eight 
o'clock.  Eagle-wing  and  the  man  he 
brings  must  be  at  midnight  at  the  en 
trance  of  the  Canon  del  Buitre.  We 
have  four  hours  before  us,  and  that  is 
more  than  we  require,  as  we  have  only 
ten  leagues  to  go." 

"  Let  us  go,  let  us  go !"  Don  Miguel 
exclaimed  eagerly. 

"  Wait  a  moment ;  there  is  no  such 
hurry.  Don't  be  alarmed ;  we  shall 
arrive  in  time." 

He  then  turned  to  Curumilla,  and 
said  to  him  in  Araucano  a  few  words 
which  the  haciendero  did  not  under 
stand.  The  Indian  rose  without  reply 
ing,  and  disappeared  iu  the  density  of 
the  forest. 

"You  know,"  Valentine  continued, 
"  that  I  prefer,  through  habit,  traveling 
on  foot;  still,  as  under  present  circum 
stances  minutes  are  precious,  and  we 
must  not  lose  them,  1  have  provided 
two  horses." 

"  You     think     of     everything, 
friend." 

"  Yes,  when  I  have  to  act  for  those 
I  love,"  Valentine  answered  with  a 
retrospective  sigh. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  be 
tween  the  two  men,  and  at  the  end 
of  scarce  a  quarter  of  an  hour  there 


my 


was  a  noise  in  the  shrubs,  the  branches 
parted,  and  Curumilla  re-entered  the 
clearing,  holding  two  horses  by  the 
bridle.  These  noble  animals,  which 
were  nearly  untamed  mustangs,  bore  a 
striking  resemblance  to  the  steeds  of 
the  Apaches,  on  whose  territory  our 
friends  now  were.  They  were  literally 
covered  with  eagle  plumes,  beads,  and 
ribbons,  while  long  red  and  white 
spots  completed  their  disguise,  and 
rendered  it  almost  impossible  to  re 
cognise  them. 

"Mount!"  Don  Miguel  exclaimed 
so  soon  as  he  saw  them.  "Time  is 
slipping  away." 

"  One  word  yet,"  Valentine  remarked. 

"Speak." 

"  You  still  have  as  chaplain  a  cer 
tain  monk  by  the  name  of  Fray  Arn- 
brosio  T' 

"  Yes." 

"  Take  care  of  that  man — he  betrays 
you." 

"You  believe  it?1' 

"  I  am  sure  of  it." 

"  Good  !     I  will  remember." 

"  All  right.  Now  we  will  be  off," 
Valentine  said,  as  he  buried  his  spurs 
in  his  horse's  flanks. 

And  the  three  horsemen  rushed  into 
the  darkness  with  headlong  speed. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

EL  MESOIT. 

THE  day  on  which  our  story  com 
mences  the  village  of  the  Paso  del 
Norte  presented  an  extraordinary  ap 
pearance-  The  bells  were  ringing  out 
full  peals,  for  the  three  hundredth, 
anniversary  of  its  foundation  was  cele 
brated.  The  population  of  Paso,  great 
ly  diminished  since  the  proclamation 
of  Mexican  independence,  was  hurry 
ing  to  the  churches,  which  flashed 
with  silver  and  gold.  The  houses 
were  decorated  with  rich  tapestry,  and 
the  streets  strewn  with  flowers. 

Toward  nightfall  the  inhabitants, 
whom  the  intolerable  heat  of  the 
tropical  sun  had  kept  prisoners  in  the 
interior  of  the  houses,  flocked  out  to 


54 


THE    TRATL-HUNTER. 


inhale  the  sharp  perfumes  of  the  desert 
breeze,  and  bring  back  a  little  fresh 
air  into  their  parched  lungs.  The 
town,  which  had  for  several  hours  ap 
peared  deserted,  suddenly  woke  up : 
shouts  and  laughter  were  heard  afresh. 
The  walks  were  invaded  by  the  mob, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  the  mesons  were 
thronged  with  idlers,  who  began  drink 
ing  pulque  and  mezcal,  while  smoking 
their  cigarettes,  and  strumming  the  ja- 
rabe  and  vihuela. 

In  a  house  of  poor  appearance,  built 
like  all  its  neighbors,  of  earth  bricks, 
and  situated  at  the  angle  formed  by  the 
Plaza  Mayor  and  the  Calle  de  la  Mer 
ced,  some  twenty-five  fellows,  whom  it 
was  easy  to  recognize  as  adventurers  by 
the  feather  in  their  hats,  their  upturned 
moustaches,  and  specially  by  the  long 
bronzed-hilted  sword  they  wore  on  the 
thigh,  were  drinking  torrents  of  aguar 
diente  and  pulque  at  the  gambling 
tables,  while  yelling  like  deaf  men, 
swearing  like  pagans,  and  threatening  at 
every  moment  to  unsheath  their  wea 
pons. 

In  a  corner  of  the  room  occupied  by 
these  troublesome  guests  two  men, 
seated  opposite  each  other  at  a  table, 
seemed  plunged  in  deep  thought,  and 
looked  round  them  absently,  not  think 
ing  about  drinking  the  contents  of  their 
glasses,  which  had  not  been  emptied  for 
more  than  half  an  hour.  These  two 
men  presented  the  most  striking  con 
trast.  They  were  still  young.  The 
first,  aged  twenty-five  at  the  most,  had 
one  of  those  frank,  honest,  and  energetic 
faces  which  call  for  sympathy,  and  at 
tract  respect.  His  pallid  brow,  his  face 
of  a  delicate  hue,  surrounded  by  his 
long  black  curls,  his  straight  and  flexi 
ble  nose,  his  mouth  filled  with  a  double 
row  of  teeth  of  dazzling  whiteness,  and 
surmounted  by  a  slight  brown  mous 
tache,  gave  him  a  stamp  of  distinction, 
which  was  the  more  striking  owing  to 
the  strict,  and  perhaps  common,  style 
of  his  attire. 

He  wore  the  costume  of  the  wood- 
rangers  ;  that  is  to  say,  the  Canadian 
mitasse,  fastened  round  the  hips,  and 
descending  to  the  ankle  ;  botas  vaqueras 
of  deer  skin,  fastened  at  the  knee  ;  and 
a  striped  zarape  of  brilliant  colors.  A 


panama  straw  hat  was  thrown  on  the 
table,  within  reach  of  his  hand,  by  the 
side  of  an  American  rifle  and  two 
double-barrelled  pistols.  A  machete 
hung  on  his  left  side,  and  the  hilt  of  .. 
long  knife  peeped  out  of  his  left  boot. 

His  companion  was  short  and  thick 
set;  but  his  well-knit  limbs  and  his  out 
standing  muscles  indicated  no  ordinary 
strength.  His  face,  the  features  of 
which  were  common-place  enough,  had 
a  cunning  look,  which  suddenly  disap 
peared  to  make  room  for  a  certain  no 
bility  whenever  under  the  influence  of 
any  sudden  emotion ;  his  eyebrows 
contracted  ;  and  his  glance,  ordinarily 
veiled,  flashed  forth.  He  wore  nearly 
the  same  garb  as  his  comrade  ;  but  his 
hat  stained  with  rain,  and  the  colors  of 
his  zarape  faded  by  the  sun,  evidenced 
lengthened  wear.  Like  the  first  one  we 
described,  he  was  well  armed. 

It  was  easy  to  see  at  the  first  glance 
that  these  two  men  did  not  belong  to 
the  Hispano- American  race.  Indeed, 
their  conversation  would  have  removed 
any  doubts  on  that  head,  for  they  spoke 
in  the  French  dialect  employed  in 
Canada. 

"  Hum  !"  the  first  said,  taking  up  his 
glass,  which  he  carelessly  raised  to  his 
lips.  "  After  due  consideration,  Harry, 
I  believe  we  shall  do  better  by  mount 
ing  our  horses  again,  and  starting,  in 
stead  of  remaining  in  this  horrible  den, 
amid  these  gachupinos,  who  croak  like 
frogs  before  a  storm." 

"  Deuce  take  your  impat'ence  !"  the 
other  replied  ill-temperedly.  "  Can't 
you  remain  a  moment  at  rest,?" 

"  You  call  it  a  moment,  Harry. 
Why,  we  have  been  here  an  hour." 

"  By  Jove  !  Dick,  you're  a  wonderful 
fellow,"  the  other  continued  with  a 
laugh.  "  Do  you  think  that  business 
can  be  settled  all  in  a  moment  ?" 

"  After  all,  what  is  our  game  1  For 
may  the  old  one  twist  my  neck,  or  a 
grizzly  give  me  a  hug,  if  I  know  the 
least  in  the  world !  for  five  years  we 
have  hunted  and  slept  side  by  side. 
We  have  come  from  Canada  together 
to  this  place.  I  have  grown  into  a  hab 
it — I  cannot  say  why — of  referring  to 
you  everything  that  concerns  our  mu 
tual  interests.  Still  I  should  not  be 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


55 


sorry  to  know,  if  only  for  the  rarity  of 

the  fact,  why  on  earth  we  left  the  prai 

ries,  where  we  were  so  well  off,  to  come 

here,  where  we  are  so  badly  off." 
"  Have    you    ever  repented,  up    to 

to-day,  the   confidence   you   placed   ii 

me?" 

"  I  do  not  say  so,  Harry.     Heaven 

"brbid  !     Still  I  think " 

"  You  think  wrong,"  the  young  man 

sharply  interrupted.     "  Let  me  alone 
f  and  before  three  months  you  shall  have 

three    times    your  hat  full  of  massive 

gold,  or  call  me  a  fool." 

At  this  dazzling  promise  the  eyes  of 

Dick,  the  smaller  of  the  hunters,  glis 
tened  like  two  stars.  He  regarded  his 
comrade  with  a  species  of  admiration. 
"  Oh,  oh !"  he  said  in  a  low  voice, 
"  it  is  a  placer,  is  it  ?" 

"  Hang  it !"  the  other  said,  with  a 
shrug  of  his  shoulders,  "  were  it  not, 
should  I  be  here  ?  But  silence,  our  man 
has  arrived." 

In  fact,  a  man  entered  at  this  mo 
ment.  On  his  appearance  a  sudden  si 
lence  fell  on  the  meson  ;  the  adventur 
ers  gambling  and  cursing  at  all  the 
tables,  rose  as  if  moved  by  a  spring, 
respectfully  took  off  their  plumed  hats, 
and  ranged  themselves  with,  downcast 
eyes  to  let  him  pass.  The  man  re 
mained  for  an  instant  en  the  threshold 
of  the  venta,  took  a  profound  glance  at 
the  company,  and  then  walked  toward 
the  two  hunters. 

This  man  wore  the  gown  of  a  monk; 
he  had  the  ascetic  face,  with  the  harsh 
features  and  sharply-marked  lines,  that 
forms,  as  it  were,  the  type  of  the  Span 
ish  monks  of  which  Titian  has  so  admi 
rably  caught  the  expression  on  his  can 
vas.  He  passed  throngh  the  adventur 
ers,  holding  out  right  and  left  his  wide 
sleeves,  which  they  reverentially  kissed. 
On  approaching  the  two  hunters  he 
turned  round. 

"  Continue  your  sports,  my  sons,"  he 
said  to  the  company  ;  "  my  presence 
need  not  disturb  your  frolics,  for  I  only 
wish  to  speak  for  a  few  moments  with 
those  two  gentlemen." 

The  adventurers  did  not  let  the  in 
vitation  be  repeated,  but  took  their 
places  again  tumultuously,  and  soon 


cries    and    oaths    recommenced    with 
equal  intensity. 

The  monk  smiled,  took  a  butacca, 
and  seated  himself  between  the  two 
hunters,  while  bending  a  searching 
glance  on  them. 

The  latter  had  followed  with  a  mock 
ing  eye  all  the  interludes  of  this  little 
scene,  and  without  making  a  movement, 
they  let  the  monk  seat  himself  by  their 
side.  So  soon  as  he  had  done  so,  Har 
ry  poured  him  out  a  large  glass  of 
pulque,  and  placed  within  his  reach  the 
squares  of  maize  leaf  and  tobacco. 

"  Drink  and  smoke,  senor  padre,"  he 
said  to  him. 

The  monk,  without  any  observation, 
rolled  a  cigarette,  emptied  the  glass  of 
pulque  at  a  draught,  and  then  leaning 
his  elbows  on  the  table  and  bending 
forward,  said : 

"  You  are  punctual." 

"  We  have  been  waiting  an  hour," 
Dick  observed  in  a  rough  voice. 

"  What  is  an  hour  in  the  presence  of 
ternity  ?"  the  monk  said  with  a  smile. 

"  Let  us  not  lose  any  more  time," 
Harry  continued.  "  What  have  you  to 
>ropose  to  us  T' 

The  monk  looked  around  him  suspi- 
iously,  and  lowered  his  voice. 

"  I  can,  if  you  like,  make  you  rich  in 
a  few  days." 

"  What  is  the  business  ?"  Dick  asked. 

"  Of  course,"  the  monk  continued, 
'  this  fortune  I  offer  you  is  a  matter  of 
ndifference  to  me.  If  I  have  an  ar 
dent  desire  to  obtain  it,  it  is,  in  the 
irst  place,  because  it  belongs  to  no- 
)ody,  and  will  permit  me  to  relieve  the 
rvretchedness  of  the  thousands  of  beings 
confided  to  my  charge." 

"  Of  course,  senor  padre,"  Harry  an 
swered  seriously.  "  Let  us  not  weigh 
onger  on  these  details.  According  to 
what  you  told  me  a  few  days  back,  you 
lave  discovered  a  rich  placer." 

"  Not  I,"  the  monk  sharply  objected. 

"  No  consequence,  provided  that  it 
exists,"  Dick  answered. 

"  Pardon  me,  but  it  is  of  great  con- 

equence  to  me.     I  do  not  wish  to  take 

•n  myself  the  responsibility  of  such   a 

liscovery.     If,  as  I  believe,  people  will 

go  in  search   of  it,  it  may  entail  the 


56 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


death  of  several  persons,  and  the  church 
abhors  bloodshed." 

"  Very  good :  you  only  desire  to 
profit  by  it." 

"  Not  for  myself." 

"  For  your  parishioners.  Very  good ; 
but  let  u*  try  to  come  to  an  understand- 
ding,  if  possible,  for  our  time  is  too 
precious  for  us  to  waste  it  in  empty 
talk." 

"  Volga  me  Dios  /"  the  monk  said, 
crossing  himself,  "  how  you  have  re 
tained  the  impetuosity  of  your  French 
origin  !  Have  a  little  patience,  and  1 
will  explain  myself." 

"  That  is  all  we  desire." 

"  But  you  will  promise  me " 

"  Nothing,"  Dick  interrupted.  "  We 
are  honest  hunters,  and  not  accustomed 
to  pledge  ^ourselves  so  lightly  before 
knowing  positively  what  is  asked  of 
us." 

Harry  supported  his  friend's  words 
by  a  nod.  Tne  monk  drank  a  glass  of 
pulque,  and  took  two  or  three  heavy 
puffs  at  his  cigarette. 

"  Your  will  be  done,"  he  then  said. 
"  You  are  terrible  men.  This  is  the 
affair." 

"  Go  on." 

"  A  poor  scamp  of  a  gambusino,  lost, 
I  know  not  how,  in  the  great  desert, 
discovered  at  a  considerable  distance 
off,  between  the  Rio  Gila  and  the  Col 
orado,  the  richest  placer  the  wildest 
imagination  can  conceive.  According 
to  his  statement  the  gold  is  scattered 
over  the  surface,  for  an  extent  of  two 
or  three  miles,  in  nuggets,  each  of  which 
would  make  a  man's  fortune.  This 
gambusino,  dazzled  by  such  treasures, 
but  unable  to  appropriate  them  alone, 
displayed  the  greatest  energy,  and 
braved  the  utmost  perils,  in  order  to 
regain  civilised  regions.  It  was  only 
through  boldness  and  temerity  that  he 
succeeded  in  escaping  the  countless 
enemies  who  spied,  and  tracked  him  on 
all  sides  ;  but  Heaven  at  length  allowed 
him  to  reach  Paso  safe  and  sound." 

"  Very  good,"  Dick  observed.  "  All 
this  may  very  possibly  be  true ;  but 
why  did  you  not  bring  this  gambusino, 
instead  of  talking  to  us  about  the  placer, 
of  which  you  know  as  little  as  we  do  1 
He  would  have  supplied  us  with  infor 


mation  which  is  indispensable  for  us,  in 
the  event  of  our  consenting  to  help  you 
in  looking  for  this  treasure." 

"Alas!"  the  monk  replied,  hypo 
critically  casting  his  eyes  down,  "  the 
unhappy  man  was  not  destined  to  profit 
by  this  discovery,  made  at  the  price  of 
so  many  perils.  Scarce  two  days  after 
his  arrival  at  Paso,  he  quarrelled  with 
another  gambusino,  and  received  a  stab 
which  sent  him  a  few  hours  later  to  the 
tomb." 

"  In  that  case,"  Harry  observed, 
"  how  did  you  learn  all  these  details, 
sen  or  padre  ]" 

"  In  a  very  simple  way,  my  son.  It 
was  I  who  reconciled  the  poor  wretch 
in  his  last  moments  with  Heaven ;  and," 
he  added,  with  an  air  of  compunction 
splendidly  assumed,  "  when  he  under 
stood  that  his  end  was  at  hand,  and  that 
nothing  could  save  him,  he  confided  to 
me,  in  gratitude  for  the  consolation  I 
bestowed  on  him,  what  I  have  just  told 
you,  revealed  to  me  the  situation  of  the 
placer,  and  for  greater  certainty  gave 
me  a  clumsy  chart  he  had  drawn  out 
on  the  spot.  You  see  that  we  can  pro 
ceed  almost  with  certainty." 

"Yes,"  Harry  said,  thoughtfully; 
"  but  why,  instead  of  first  applying  to 
the  Mexicans,  your  countrymen,  did 
you  propose  to  us  to  help  you  in  your 
enterprise  ?" 

"  Because  the  Mexicans  are  men  who 
cannot  be  trusted,  and  before  reaching 
the  placer  we  should  have  to  fight  the 
Apaches  and  Comanches,  on  whose  ter 
ritory  it  is  situated." 

After  these  words,  there  was  a 
lengthened  silence  between  the  three 
speakers  :  each  was  reflecting  deeply  on 
what  he  had  just  heard.  The  monk 
tried  to  read  with  cunning  eye  the  im 
pression  produced  on  the  hunters  by 
his  confidence ;  but  his  hopes  were  de 
ceived.  Their  faces  remained  unmoved. 
At  length  Dick  spoke  in  a  rough  voice, 
after  exchanging  a  meaning  look  with 
his  comrade. 

"  All  that  is  very  fine,"  he  said  ;  "  but 
it  is  absurd  to  suppose  that  two  men, 
however  brave  they  may  be,  can  at 
tempt  such  an  enterprise  in  unknown 
region*  peopled  by  ferocious  tribes.  It 
would  require  at  least  fifty  resolute  and 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


57 


devoted  men,  otherwise  nothing  could 
be  possible." 

'•You  are  right,  and  hence  I  did  not 
calculate  on  you  alone.  You  will  have 
determined  men  under  your  orders, 
chosen  carefully  by  myself,  and  I  shall 
also  accompany  you." 

"  Unluckily,  if  you  have  counted  on 
us,  you  are  mistaken,  senor  padre," 
Harry  said,  peremptorily.  "  We  are 
honest  hunters  ;  but  the  trade  of  a  gam- 
busino  does  not  at  all  suit  us.  Even 
if  we  had  a  chance  of  gaining  an  incal 
culable  fortune,  we  would  not  consent 
to  take  part  in  an  expedition  of  gold 
seekers." 

"  Not  even  if  Red  Cedar  were  at  the 
head  of  the  expedition,  and  consented 
to  take  the  direction  ?"  the  monk  said 
in  a  honeyed  voice,  and  with  a  side- 
glance. 

The  hunter  started,  a  feverish  blush 
suffused  his  face,  and  it  was  in  a  voice 
choked  by  emotion  that  he  exclaimed  : 

"  Have  you  spoken  with  him  about 
it?" 

"  Here  he  is  ;  you  can  ask  him,"  the 
monk  answered. 

In  fact,  a  man  was  entering  the  me 
son  at  this  moment.  Harry  looked 
down  in  confusion,  while  Dick  tapped 
the  table  with  his  dagger  and  whistled. 
A  smile  of  undefinable  meaning  wan 
dered  over  the  monk's  pallid  lips. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

RED    CEDAR. 

RED  CEDAR  was  more  than  six  feet 
in  height ;  his  enormous  head  was  fas 
tened  to  his  square  shoulders  by  a  short 
and  muscular  neck,  like  a  bull's ;  his 
bony  members  were  covered  with  mus 
cles  hard  as  ropes.  In  short,  his  whole 
person  was  a  specimen  of  brute 
strength  at  its  culminating  point. 

A  fox-skin  cap,  pressed  down  on  his 
head,  allowed  escape  to  a  few  tufts  of 
coarse  greyish  hair,  and  fell  on  his  little 
grey  eyes,  which  were  close  to  a  nose 
that  was  hooked  like  the  beak  of  a  bird 
of  prey ;  his  wide  mouth  was  filled 
with  white,  large  teeth;  his  cheek 


bones  were  prominent  and  purpled  ; 
and  the  lower  part  of  his  face  disap 
peared  in  a  thick  black  beard,  mingled 
with  grey  hairs.  He  wore  a  hunting 
shirt  of  striped  calico,  fastened  round 
the  waist  by  a  strap  of  brown  leather, 
through  which  were  passed  two  pistols, 
an  axe,  and  a  long  knife  ;  a  pair  of  leg- 
gins  of  tawny  leather,  sewed  at  equal 
distances  with  hair,  fell  down  to  his 
knees  ;  while  his  legs  were  protected 
by  Indian  moccasins,  ornamented  with 
a  profusion  of  beads  and  bells.  A 
game  bag  of  fawn-skin,  which  seemed 
full,  fell  over  his  right  hip ;  and  he 
field  in  his  hand  an  American  rifle, 
studded  with  copper  nails. 

No  one  knew  who  Red  Cedar  was,  or 
whence  he  came.  About  two  years 
prior  to  the  period  of  our  story  opening 
he  had  suddenly  made  his  appearance  in 
the  country,  accompanied  by  a  wife  of 
a  certain  age — a  species  of  Megsera,  of 
masculine  form  and  repellant  aspect ;  a 
girl  of  seventeen  ;  and  three  vigorous 
lads,  who  resembled  him  too  closely 
not  to  be  his  own,  and  whose  age  va 
ried  from  nineteen  to  twenty-four. 

Red  Cedar  himself  appeared  to  be 
fifty-five  at  the  most.  The  name  by 
which  he  was  known  had  been  given  to 
him  by  the  Indians,  of  whom  he  had 
declared  himself  the  implacable  enemy, 
and  boasted  that  he  had  killed  two  hun 
dred.  The  old  woman  was  called 
Betsy  ;  the  girl,  Ellen  ;  the  eldest  son, 
Nathan;  the  second,  Sutter;  and  the 
last,  Shaw. 

This  family  had  built  a  shanty  in  the 
forest,  a  few  miles  from  Paso,  and  lived 
alone  in  the  desert,  without  having  en 
tered  into  any  relations  with  the  inhab 
itants  of  the  village,  or  the  trappers 
and  wood-rangers,  its  neighbors.  The 
mysterious  conduct  of  these  strangers 
had  given  rise  to  numerous  comments  ; 
but  all  had  remained  without  reply  or 
solution,  and  after  two  years  they  re 
mained  as  perfect  strangers  as  on  the 
day  of  their  arrival. 

Still,  mournful  and  sad  stories  were 
in  circulation  on  their  account :  they 
inspired  an  instinctive  hatred  and  in 
voluntary  terror  in  the  Mexicans. 
Some  said  in  a  whisper  that  old  Red 
Cedar  and  his  three  sons  were  nothing 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


less  than  "  scalp-hunters ;"  that  is  to 
say,  in  the  public  esteem,  people  placed 
beneath  the  pirates  of  the  prairies,  that 
uwclean  breed  of  birds  of  prey  which 
everybody  fears  and  despises. 

The  entry  of  Red  Cedar  was  signifi 
cant  ;  the  otherwise  unscrupulous  men 
who  filled  the  venta  hurriedly  retired 
on  his  approach,  and  made  room  for 
him  with  a  zeal  mingled  with  disgust. 

The  old  Partisan  crossed  the  room 
>with  head  erect;  a  smile  of  haughty 
I  disdain  played  round  his  thin  lips  at 
the  sight  of  the  effect  his  presence  pro 
duced,  and  he  went  up  to  the  monk 
and  his  two  companions.  On  reaching 
them  he  roughly  placed  the  butt  of  his 
rifle  on  the  ground,  leaned  his  two 
crossed  hands  upon  the  barrel,  and  after 
bending  a  cunning  glance  on  the  persons 
before  him,  said  to  the  monk  in  a  hoarse 
voice  : 

"  The  deuce  take  you,  senor  padre  ! 
Here  I  am :  what  do  you  want  with 
me?" 

Far  from  being  vexed  at  this  brutal 
address,  the  latter  smiled  on  the  colos- 
us,  and  held  out  his  hand  to  him,  as  he 
graciously  made  answer : 

"  You  are  welcome,  Red  Cedar ;  we 
were  expecting  you  impatiently.  Sit 
down  by  my  side  on  this  butacca,  and 
we  will  talk  while  drinking  a  glass  of 
pulque." 

"  The  deuce  twist  your  neck,  and 
may  your  accursed  pulque  choke  you  ! 
Do  you  take  me  for  a  wretched  abor 
tion  of  your  sort  ]"  the  other  answered 
as  he  fell  into  the  seat  offered  him. 
"  Order  me  some  brandy,  and  that  of 
the  strongest.  1  am  not  a  babe,  I  sup 
pose." 

Without  making  the  slightest  obser 
vation,  the  monk  rose,  went  to  speak 
with  the  host,  arid  presently  returned 
<  with  a  bottle,  from  which  he  poured  a 
bumper  for  the  old  hunter.  The  latter 
emptied  the  glass  at  a  draught,  put  it 
back  on  the  table  with  a  sonorous 
"  hum !"  and  turned  to  the  monk  with 
a  grimacing  smile. 

"  Come,  the  devil  is  not  always  so 
black  as  he  looks,  senor  padre,"  he  said, 
as  he  passed  his  hand  over  his  mouth 
to  wipe  his  moustache.  "  I  see  that  we 
can  come  to  an  understanding." 


"  It  will  only  depend  on  you,  Red 
Cedar.  Here  are  two  worthy  Cana 
dian  hunters  who  will  do  nothing  with 
out  your  support." 

The  Hercules  took  a  side  glance  at 
the  young  men. 

"  Eh  I"  he  said,  "  what  do  you  want 
with  these  children  ?  Did  I  not  pro 
mise  you  to  reach  the  placer  with  my 
sons  only  T' 

"  He,  he  !  you  are  powerfully  built, 
both  you  and  your  lads,  I  allow  ;  but 
I  doubt  whether  four  men,  were  they 
twice  as  strong  as  you  are,  could  carry 
out  this  affair  successfully.  You  will 
have  numerous  enemies  to  combat  on 
your  road." 

"  All  the  better  !  The  more  there 
are,  the  more  we  shall  kill,"  he  an 
swered  with  a  sinister  laugh. 

"  Senor  padre,"  Dick  interrupted, 
"  as  far  as  1  am  concerned,  I  care  little 
about  it." 

But  he  was  suddenly  checked  by  a 
meaning  glance  from  his  mate. 

"  What  do  you  care  little  about,  my 
pretty  lad  ?"  the  giant  asked  in  a  mock 
ing  voice. 

"  Nothing,"  the  young  man  answered 
drily.  "  Suppose  I  had  not  spoken." 

"  Good,"  Red  Cedar  remarked  ;  "  it 
shall  be  as  you  wish.  Here's  your 
health." 

And  he  poured  the  rest  of  the  bottle 
into  his  glass. 

"  Come,"  said  Harry,  "  Let  us  have 
but  few  words.  Explain  yourself  once 
for  all,  without  beating  about  the  bush, 
senor  padre." 

"  Yes,"  Red  Cedar  observed,  "  men 
ought  not  to  waste  their  time  thus  in 
chattering." 

"  Very  good.  This,  then,  is  what  I 
propose.  Red  Cedar  will  collect  with 
in  three  days  from  this  time  thirty  re 
solute  men,  of  whom  he  will  take  the 
command,  and  we  will  start  immediate 
ly  in  search  of  the  placer.  Does  it 
suit  you  in  that  way  ?" 

"Hum!"-  Red  Cedar  said.  "In 
order  to  go  in  search  of  the  placer  we 
must  know  a  little  in  what  direction  it 
is,  or  deuce  take  me  if  I  undertake  the 
business  !" 

"  Do  not  trouble  yourself  about  that, 
Red  Cedar;  I  will  accompany  you. 


THE   TRAIL-HUNTER. 


59 


Have  I  not  got  a  plan  of  the  country  ?" 

The  colossus  shot  at  the  monk  a 
glance  which  sparkled  under  his  dark 
eyelash,  but  he  hastened  to  moderate 
its  brilliancy  by  letting  his  eyes  fall. 

"  That  is  true,"  he  said  with  feigned 
indifference ;  "  I  forgot  that  you  were 
coming  with  us.  Then  you  will  leave 
your  parishioners  during  your  ab 
sence  ?" 

"  Heaven  will  watch  over  them." 

"  Eh  !  it  will  have  its  work  cut  out. 
However,  that  does  not  concern  me  at 
all.  But  why  did  you  oblige  me  to 
corne  to  this  meson  ?" 

"  In  order  to  introduce  you  to  these 
two  hunters,  who  will  accompany  us." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  Dick  observed, 
"  but  I  do  not  exactly  see  of  what  use  I 
can  be  to  you  in  all  this  :  rny  aid,  and 
that  of  my  mate,  do  not  appear  to  me 
to  be  indispensable." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  the  monk  an 
swered  quickly,  "  I  reckon  entirely  on 
you." 

The  giant  had  risen. 

"  What!"  he  said,  as  he  roughly  laid 
his  enormous  hand  on  Dick's  shoulder, 
"  you  do  not  understand  that  this  honor 
able  personage,  who  did  not  hesitate  to 
kill  a  man  in  order  to  rob  him  of  the 
secret  of  the  placer,  has  a  terrible  fear 
of  finding  himself  alone  with  me  on  the 
prairie  ?  He  fears  that  I  shall  kill  him 
in  my  turn  to  rob  him  of  the  secret  of 
which  he  became  master  by  a  crime. 
Ha,  ha,  ha  !" 

And  he  turned  his  back  unceremo 
niously. 

"  How  can  you  suppose  such  things, 
Red  Cedar  ?"  the  monk  exclaimed. 

"  Do  you  fancy  that  I  did  not  read 
you  ]"  the  latter  answered.  "  But  it  is 
all  the  same  to  you.  Do  as  you 
please  :  I  leave  you  aj,  liberty  to  act  as 
you  like." 

"  What !  you  are  off  already  7" 

"  Hang  it !  what  have  I  to  do  any 
longer  here1?  All  is  settled  between  us. 
In  three  days  thirty  of  the  best  frontiers 
men  will  be  assembled  by  my  care  at 
Grizzly  Bear  Creek,  where  we  shall  ex 
pect  you." 

After  shrugging  his  shoulders  once 
again  he  went  off  without  any  salute, 
or  even  turning  his  head. 


"  It  must  be  confessed,"  Dick  ob 
served,  "  that  the  man  has  a  most  vil- 
lanous  face.  What  a  hideous  fellow  !" 

"  Oh  !"  the  monk  answered  with  a 
sigh,  "  the  exterior  is  nothing.  You 
should  know  the  inner  man." 

"  Why,  in  that  case,  do  you  have  any 
dealings  with  him1?" 

The  monk  blushed  slightly. 

"  Because  it  must  be  so,"  he  muttered. 

"  All  right  for  you,"  Dick  continued  ; 
"  but  as  nothing  obliges  my  friend  and 
myself  to  have  any  more  intimate  re 
lations  with  that  man,  you  must  not 
mind,  senor  padre,  if " 

"  Silence,  Dick !"  Harry  shouted, 
angrily.  "You  do  not  know  what  you 
are  talking  about.  We  will  accompany 
you,  senor  padre.  You  can  reckon  on 
us  to  defend  you  if  necessary,  for  I  sup 
pose  that  Red  Cedar  is  right." 

"  In  what  way  ]" 

"  You  do  not  wish  to  trust  your  life 
defencelessly  in  his  hands,  and  you 
reckoned  on  us  to  protect  you.  Is  it 
not  so  V 

"  Why  should  I  feign  any  longer  ? 
Yes,  that  man  terrifies  me,  and  I  do  not 
wish  to  trust  myself  to  his  mercy." 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed ;  we  shall  be 
there,  and  on  our  word  as  hunters,  not 
a  hair  of  your  head  shall  fall." 

A  lively  satisfaction  appeared  on  the 
monk's  pale  face  at  this  generous  pro 
mise. 

"  Thanks,"  he  said  warmly. 

Harry's  conduct  appeared  so  extra 
ordinary  to  Dick,  who  knew  the  lofty 
sentiments  and  innate  honor  of  his  com 
rade,  that,  without  striving  to  fathom 
the  motives  which  made  him  act  thus, 
he  contented  himself  by  backing  up  his 
words  by  an  affirmative  nod  of  the  head. 

"  Be  assured,  cabal leros,  that  when 
we  have  reached  the  placer,  I  will  give 
you  a  large  share,  and  you  will  have  no 
cause  to  regret  accompanying  me." 

'•'  The  money  question  has  but  slight 
interest  with  us,"  Harry  answered. 
"  My  friend  and  I  are  free  hunters,  car 
ing  very  little  for  riches,  which  would 
be  to  us  rather  a  source  of  embarrass 
ment  than  of  pleasure  and  enjoyment. 
Curiosity  alone,  and  the  desire  of  ex 
ploring  strange  countries,  are  sufficient 
to  make  us  undertake  this  journey.' 


60 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


"  Whatever  the  reason  that  makes 
you  accept  my  proposals,  I  am  not  the 
less  obliged  to  you." 

"Now  you  will  permit  us  to  take 
leave  of  you,  and  we  shall  hold  our 
selves  at  your  orders." 

"  Go,  gentlemen  ;  1  will  not  keep  you 
longer.  I  know  where  to  find  you  when 
I  want  you." 

The  young  men  took  up  their  hats, 
slung  their  rifles  on  their  shoulders,  and 
left  the  meson.  The  monk  looked  after 
them. 

"  Oh  !"  he  muttered,  "  I  believe  I  can 
trust  to  those  men :  they  have  still  in 
their  veins  a  few  drops  of  that  honest 
French  blood  which  despises  treachery. 
No  matter,"  he  added,  as  if  on  reflec 
tion  ;  "  I  will  take  my  precautions." 

After  this  aside,  he  rose  and  looked 
around  him.  The  room  was"  full  of  ad 
venturers,  who  drank  or  played  at 
monte,  and  whose  energetic  faces  st"od 
out  in  the  semi-obscurity  of  the  room, 
which  was  scarce  lighted  by  a  smoky 
lamp.  After  a  moment's  reflection  the 
monk  boldly  struck  the  table  with  his 
clenched  fist,  and  shouted  in  a  loud 
voice : 

"Senores  caballeros,  I  invite  you  to 
listen  to  me.  I  have,  I  fancy,  an  ad 
vantageous  proposal  to  make  to  you." 

The  company  turned  their  heads ; 
those  who  were  gambling  for  a  moment 
abandoned  their  cards  and  dice ;  the 
drinkers  alone  kept  in  their  hands  the 
glasses  they  held ;  but  all  approached 
the  monk,  round  whom  they  grouped 
themselves  curiously. 

"  Caballeros,"  he  continued,  "  if  I  am 
not  mistaken,  all  present  are  gentlemen 
whom  fortune  has  more  or  less  ill- 
treated." 

The  adventurers,  by  an  automatic 
movement  of  extraordinary  regularity, 
bowed  their  heads  in  affirmation. 

"  If  you  wish  it,"  he  continued  with 
an  imperceptible  smile, "  I  will  under 
take  to  repair  the  wrong  by  it  done  you." 

The  adventurers  pricked  up  their  ears. 

"  Speak,  speak,  senor  padre  !"  they 
shouted  with  delight. 


"What  is  the  affair?"  a  man  with  a 
hang-dog  face  said,  who  stood  in  the 
front  ranks. 

"  A  war-party  which  I  intend  to  lead 
shortly  into  Apacheria,"  the  monk  said, 
"  and  for  which  purpose  I  need  you." 

At  this  proposition  the  first  ardor  of 
the  adventurers  visibly  cooled  down. 
The  Apaches  and  Comanches  inspire  an 
invincible  terror  in  the  inhabitants  ol 
the  Mexican  frontiers. 

The  monk  guessed  the  effect  he  had 
produced ;  but  he  continued,  as  if  not 
observing  anything  : 

"  I  take  you  all  into  my  service  for  a 
month,  at  the  rate  of  four  piastres  a 
day." 

At  this  magnificent  offer  the  eyes  of 
the  adventurers  sparkled  with  greed, 
fear  gave  way  to  avarice,  and  they  all 
exclaimed  : 

"  We  accept,  reverend  father  !" 

"  But,"  the  man  continued  who  had 
already  spoken,  "  we  shall  be  happy, 
senor  padre,  if,  before  starting,  you 
would  give  us  your  holy  benediction, 
and  absolve  us  from  the  few  sins  we 
may  have  committed." 

"  Yes,"  the  company  yelled,  "  we 
shall  be  happy  if  you  consent  to  that, 
reverend  father." 

The  monk  appeared  to  reflect :  the 
adventurers,  anxiously  waited. 

"  Well,  be  it  so,"  he  answered  after 
a  moment.  "  As  the  work  in  which  I 
am  about  to  employ  you  is  so  meritori 
ous,  I  will  give  you  my  blessing,  and 
grant  you  absolution  of  your  sins." 

For  a  few  minutes  there  was  a  shout 
and  exclamations  of  joy  in  the  room. 
The  monk  demanded  silence,  and  when 
it  was  restored  he  said  : 

"  Now,  caballeros,  give  me  each  your 
name,  that  I  may  find  you  when  1  need 
you." 

He  sat  down  and  began  enrolling  the 
adventurers,  who,  with  the  men  Red 
Cedar  supplied,  would  form  the  band 
with  which  he  hoped  to  reach  the  placer. 
We  will  leave  the  worthy  monk  for  a 
few  moments,  and  follow  the  two  Cana 
dian  hunters. 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


61 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE     TWO    HUNTERS. 

HARRY  and  Dick,  whom  we  saw 
seated  at  a  table  in  the  meson  with  Red 
Cedar  and  Fray  Ambrosio,  were  how 
ever,  very  far  from  resembling  those 
two  men  morally.  They  were  free  and 
bold  hunters,  who  had  spent  the  greater 
part  of  their  life  in  the  desert,  and  who, 
in  the  vast  solitude  of  the  prairie,  had 
accustomed  themselves  to  a  life  free 
and  exempt  from  those  vices  which 
accompany  a  town  residence. 

For  them  gold  was  only  the  means 
to  procure  the  necessary  objects  for 
their  trade  as  hunters  and  trappers ; 
and  they  never  imagined  that  the  pos 
session  of  a  large  quantity  of  that  yellow 
metal  they  despised  would  place  them 
in  a  position  to  enjoy  other  pleasures 
than  those  they  found  in  their  long 
hunts  of  wild  beasts — hunts  so  full  ot 
strange  incidents  and  striking  joys. 

Thus  Dick  had  been  to  the  highest 
degree  surprised  when  he  saw  his 
friend  eagerly  accept  the  monk's  offer, 
and  agree  to  go  in  search  of  the  placer  j 
but  what  even  more  surprised  him  was 
Harry's  insisting  that  Red  Cedar  must 
take  the  lead  of  the  expedition. 
Though  no  one  could  positively  accuse 
the  squatter,  owing  to  the  precautions 
he  took,  of  leading  a  life  of  rapine  and 
murder,  still  the  mysterious  conduct  he 
affected,  and  the  solitude  in  which  he 
lived  with  his  family,  had  cast  on  him 
a  shadow  of  reprobation. 

Every  one  regarded  him  as  a  scalp- 
hunter,  and  yet  no  one  would  have 
ventured  to  affirm  the  odious  deeds  of 
which  he  was  accused.  The  result  of 
the  general  reprobation  that  fell  on  the 
squatter,  and  which  we  know  to  be  ful 
ly  merited,  was  that  he  and  his  family 
were  placed  under  a  ban  by  the  frontier 
hunters  and  trappers,  and  every  one 
fled  not  only  their  society,  but  any  con 
tact  with  them. 

Dick  was  thoroughly  acquainted  with 
his  friend's  upright  character  and  nobil 
ity  of  heart.  Hence  his  conduct  under 
the  present  circumstances  seemed  to 
him  perfectly  incomprehensible,  and  he 


resolved  to  have  an  explanation  with 
him. 

They  had  scarce  quitted  the  meson 
ere  Dick  bent  down  to  his  companion, 
and  said,  while  looking  at  him  curi 
ous  : 

"  We  have  been  hunting  together  for 
five  years,  Harry,  and  up  to  the  pres 
ent  1  have  ever  let  myself  be  guided  by 
you,  leaving  you  free  to  act  as  you 
pleased  for  our  mutual  welfare.  Still 
this  evening  your  conduct  has  appear 
ed  to  me  so  extraordinary  that  I  am 
obliged,  in  the  name  of  our  friendship, 
which  has  never  suffered  a  break  up  to 
this  day,  to  ask  you  for  an  explanation 
of  what  has  occurred  in  my  presence." 

"  For  what  good,  my  boy  1  Do  you 
not  know  me  well  enough  to  be  certain 
that  1  would  not  consent  to  do  any  dis 
honorable  deed  T' 

"  Up  to  this  evening  I  would  have 
sworn  it,  Harry  :  yes,  on  my  honor  I 
would  have  sworn  it " 

"And  now]"  the  young  man  asked, 
stopping  and  looking  his  friend  in  the 
face. 

"Now,"  Dick  answered,  with  a  cer 
tain  degree  of  hesitation,  "  hang  it  all  ! 
1  will  be  frank  with  you,  Harry,  as  an 
honest  hunter  should  ever  be.  Now  I 
do  not  know  if  I  should  do  so:  no,  in 
deed  I  should  not." 

"  What  you  say  there  causes  me 
great  pain,  Dick.  You  oblige  me,  in 
order  to  dissipate  your  unjust  suspi 
cions,  to  confide  to  you  a  secret  which 
is  not  my  own,  and  which  I  would  not 
have  revealed  for  anything  in  the 
world." 

"  Pardon  me,  Harry,  but  in  my  place 
lam  convinced  you  would  act  as  1  am 
doing.  We  are  very  far  from  our 
country,  which  we  shall  never  see  again, 
perhaps.  We  are  responsible  for  each 
other,  and  our  actions  must  be  free  from 
all  double  interpretation." 

"  I  will  do  what  you  ask,  Dick,  what 
ever  it  may  cost  me.  I  recognize  the 
ustice  of  your  observations.  I  under 
stand  how  much  my  conduct  this  night 
must  have  hurt  you  and  appeared  am 
biguous.  I  do  not  wish  our  friendship 
to  receive  the  least  wound,  or  the  slight- 

cloud  to  arise  between  us.  You  shall 
3e  satisfied." 


62 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


"  I  thank  you,  Harry.  What  you 
tell  me  relieves  my  bosom  of  a  heavy 
load.  I  confess  that  I  should  have  been 
in  despair  to  think  badly  of  you  ;  but 
the  words  of  that  intriguing  monk,  and 
the  manners  of  that  worthy  acolyte, 
Red  Cedar,  put  me  in  a  passion.  Had 
you  not  warned  me  so  quickly  to 
silence,  I  believe — Heaven  pardon  me! 
— that  I  should  have  ended  by  telling 
them  a  piece  of  my  mind." 

"  You  displayed  considerable  pru 
dence  in  keeping  silence,  and  be  assured 
you  will  completely  approve  me." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,  Harry  ;  and  now 
I  feel  certain  I  deceived  myself.  I  feel 
all  jolly  again." 

While  speaking  thus  the  two  hunters, 
who  were  walking  with  that  rapid  step 
peculiar  to  men  habituated  to  traverse 
great  distances  on  foot,  had  crossed  the 
village,  and  found  themselves  already 
far  in  the  plain. 

The  night  was  magnificent — the  sky 
of  a  deep  blue.  An  infinite  number  of 
glistening  stars  seemed  floating  in  ether. 
The  moon  spread  its  silvery  rays  pro 
fusely  over  the  landscape.  The  sharp 
odor  of  the  flowers  perfumed  the  at 
mosphere. 

The  two  hunters  still  walked  on. 

"  Where  are  we  going  now,  Harry  ?" 
Dick  asked.  "  I  fancy  we  should  do 
better  by  taking  a  few  hours'  rest,  in 
stead  of  fatiguing  ourselves  without 
any  definite  object." 

"  I  never  do  anything  without  a  rea 
son,  friend,  as  you  know,"  Harry  an 
swered  ;  "  so  let  me  guide  you,  and  we 
shall  soon  arrive." 

"  Do  as  you  think  proper,  my  boy  ;  I 
shall  say  nothing." 

"  In  the  first  place  you  must  know 
that  the  French  hunter,  Koutonepi,  has 
begged  me,  for  reasons  he  did  not  tell 
me,  to  watch  Fray  Ambrosio.  That  is 
one  of  the  motives  which  made  me  be 
present  at  this  night's  interview,  al 
though  1  care  as  iittle  for  a  placer  as 
for  a  musk-rat's  skin." 

"  Koutonepi  is  the  first  hunter  on  the 
frontier ;  he  has  often  done  us  a  service 
in  the  desert.  You  acted  rightly, 
Harry,  in  doing  what  he  asked." 

"  As  for  the  second  reason  that  dic 


tated  my  conduct,  Dick,  you  shall  soon 
know  it." 

Half  talking,  half  dreaming,  the 
young  men  reached  Buffalo  Valley,  and 
soon  entered  the  forest  which  served  as 
a  lair  for  the  squatter  and  his  family. 

"Where  the  deuce  are  we  going?" 
Dick  could  not  refrain  from  saying. 

"  Silence !"  said  the  other  :  "  we  are 
approaching." 

Tne  darkness  was  profound  in  the 
forest :  the  density  of  the  leafy  dome 
under  which  they  walked  completely 
intercepted  the  light  of  the  moonbeams. 
Still  the  Canadians,  long  accustomed  to 
a  night  march,  advanced  as  easily 
through  the  chaos  of  creepers  and  trees 
tangled  in  each  other  as  if  they  had 
been  in  open  day.  On  reaching  a  cer 
tain  spot  where  the  trees,  growing  less 
closely  together,  formed  a  species  of 
clearing,  and  allowed  an  uncertain  and 
tremorous  light  to  pass,  Harry  stopped, 
and  made  his  comrade  a  sign  to  do  the 
same. 

"This  is  the  place,"  he  said.  "  Still, 
as  the  person  I  have  come  to  see  ex 
pects  me  to  be  alone,  and  your  unex 
pected  presence  might  cause  alarm,  hide 
yourself'  behind  that  larch  tree  :  above 
all,  be  careful  not  to  stir  till  I  call 
you." 

"Oh,  oh!"  the  hunter  said,  with  a 
laugh,  "  have  you  perchance  led  me  to 
a  love  meeting,  Harry  ?" 

"  You  shall  judge,"  Harry  replied  la 
conically.  "  Hide  yourself." 

Dick,  greatly  troubled,  did  not  need 
the  invitation  to  be  repeated  :  he  con 
cealed  himself  behind  the  tree  his  friend 
had  indicated,  and  which  would  have 
sheltered  a  dozen  men  behind  its  enor 
mous  stem.  Sj  soon  as  Harry  was 
alone,  he  raised  his  fingers  to  his  lips, 
and  at  three  different  intervals  imitated 
the  cry  of  an  owl  with  such  perfection 
that  Dick  himself  was  deceived,  and 
mechanically  looked  up  to  seek  the  bird 
in  the  tall  branches  of  the  tree  by  which 
he  stood. 

Almost  immediately,  a  slight  noise 
was  audible  in  the  shrubs,  and  a  grace 
ful  and  white  form  appeared  in  th« 
glade.  It  was  Ellen,  who  rapidly 
walked  toward  the  young  man. 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


"Oil,  it  is  you,  Harry!"  she  said 
with  joy.  "  Heaven  be  blessed  !  I  was 
afraid  you  would  not  come,  as  it  is  late." 

"  It  is  true,  Ellen :  pardon  me.  I 
made  all  possible  speed,  however;  and 
it  is  not  my  fault  that  I  did  not  arrive 
sooner." 

"  How  good  you  are,  Harry,  to  take 
so  much  trouble  for  my  sake !  How 
can  1  ever  recognise  the  continual  ser 
vices  you  do  me  ?" 

"  Oh  !  do  not  speak  about  them.  It 
is  a  happiness  for  me  to  do  anything 
agreeable  to  you." 

"  Alas !"  the  maiden  murmured, 
"  Heaven  is  my  witness  that  I  feel  a 
deep  friendship  for  you,  Harry." 

The  youna;  man  sighed  gently. 

"  I  have  done  what  you  asked  of  me," 
he  said  suddenly. 

"Then  it  is  true  my  father  is  thinking 
about  leaving  this  country  to  go  further 
still  ?" 

"  Yes,  Ellen,  and  into  frightful  coun 
tries,  among  the  ferocious  Indians." 

The  girl  gave  a  start  of  terror. 

"  Do  you  know  the  reason  of  his  go 
ing  1"  she  continued. 

"  Yes ;  he  is  about  to  look  for  a  gold 
placer." 

"  Alas !  who  will  protect  me,  who 
will  defend  me  in  future,  if  we  go 
away  ?" 

"I,  Ellen!"  the  hunter  exclaimed 
impetuously.  "  Have  I  not  sworn  to 
follow  you  everywhere  ?" 

"  It  is  true,"  she  said  sadly ;  "  but 
why  should  you  risk  your  life  on  the 
distant  journey  we  are  about  to  under 
take  1  No,  Harry,  remain  here  ;  I  can 
not  consent  to  your  departure.  From 
what  I  have  heard  say,  the  band  my 
father  commands  will  be  numerous — it 
will  have  scarce  anything  to  fear  from 
the  Indians  ;  while,  on  the  other  hand, 
you,  compelled  to  hide  yourself,  will  be 
exposed  alone  to  terrible  danger.  No, 
Harry,  I  will  not  permit  it." 

"  Undeceive  yourself,  Ellen.  I  shall 
not  be  forced  to  conceal  myself;  I  shall 
not  be  alone,  for  I  am  a  member  of 
your  father's  band." 

"  Is  it  possible,  Harry  ?"  she  ex- 
•  claimed,  with  an  expression  of  joy  that 
made  the  young  man  quiver. 


"  I  enrolled  myself  this  very  even 
ing." 

"  Oh !"  she  said,  "  then  in  that  case 
we  can  often  meet  ?" 

"  Whenever  you  please,  Ellen,  as  I 
shall  be  there." 

"  Oh  !  now  I  am  anxious  to  be  away 
from  here,  and  wish  we  had  already 
started." 

"  It  will  not  be  long  first,  set  your 
mind  at  rest.  I  am  convinced  that  we 
shall  start  within  the  week." 

"  Thanks  for  the  good  news  you 
bring  me,  Harry." 

"  Are  your  father  and  mother  still 
unkind  to  you,  Ellen  ?" 

"  It  is  nearly  always  the  same  thing; 
and  yet  their  conduct  toward  me  is 
strange.  It  often  seems  to  me  incom 
prehensible,  as  it  is  so  marked  with 
peculiarities.  There  are  moments  iu 
which  they  seem  to  love  me  dearly. 
My  father  especially  caresses  and  em 
braces  me,  and  then  all  at  once,  I  know 
not  why,  repulses  me  rudely,  and  looks 
at  me  in  a  way  that  causes  me  to  shud 
der." 

"  That  is  indeed  strange,  Ellen." 

"  Is  it  not  ?  There  is  one  thing 
above  all  I  cannot  explain." 

"  Tell  it  me,  Ellen  ;  perhaps  I  can 
do  so." 

"  You  know  that  all  my  family  are 
Protestants  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Weil,  I  am  a  Catholic." 

"  That  is  certainly  curious." 

**  I  wear  around  my  neck  a  small 
golden  crucifix.  Every  time  accident 
makes  this  trinket  glisten  before  my 
father  and  mother  they  grow  furious, 
threaten  to  beat  me,  and  order  me  to 
hide  it  at  once.  Do  you  understand 
the  meaning  of  this,  Harry  ?" 

"No,  I  do  not,  Ellen;  but,  believe 
me,  leave  everything  to  time  ;  perhaps 
it  will  enable  us  to  find  the  clue  to  the 
mystery  which  we  seek  in  vain  at  this 
moment." 

"  Well,  your  presence  has  rendered 
me  happy  for  a  long  time,  Harry,  so 
now  I  will  retire." 

"Already?" 

"I  must,  my  friend.  Believe  me 
that  I  am  as  sad  as  yourself  at  this  sep- 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


aration ;  but  my  father  has  not  yet  re 
turned,  and  may  arrive  at  any  moment. 
If  he  noticed  that  I  was  not  asleep,  who 
knows  what  might  happen?" 

While  saying  the  last  words  the  girl 
held  out  her  delicate  hand  to  the  hun 
ter,  who  raised  it  to  his  lips  passionate 
ly.  Ellen  withdrew  it  suddenly,  and 
bounding  like  a  startled  fawn,  darted 
into  the  forest,  where  she  soon  disap 
peared,  giving  the  young  man  a  part 
ing  word,  which  caused  him  to  quiver 
with  joy  : 

"  We  shall  meet  soon." 

Harry  stood  for  a  long  time  with 
his  eyes  fixed  on  the  spot  where  the 
seductive  vision  had  disappeared.  At 
length  he  uttered  a  sigh,  threw  his 
rifle  over  his  shoulder,  and  turned  as  if 
to  depart. 

Dick  was  before  him. 

Harry  gave  a  start  of  surprise,  for 
he  had  forgotten  his  friend's  presence; 
but  the  latter  smiled  good-humoredly. 

"I  now  comprehend  your  conduct, 
Harry,"  he  said  to  him;  "you  were 
right  to  act  as  you  did.  Pardon  my 
unjust  suspicions,  and  count  on  me 
everywhere  and  always." 

Harry  silently  pressed  the  hand  his 
friend  offered  him,  and  they  walked 
back  rapidly  in  the  direction  of  the  vil 
lage.  As  they  emerged  from  the  forest 
they  passed,  a  man  who  did  not  see 
them.  It  was  Red  Cedar.  So  soon  as 
he  had  gone  a  short  distance  Harry 
stopped  his  companion,  and  pointing  to 
the  squatter,  whose  long  black  shadow 
glided  through  the  trees,  said,  as  he 
laid  his  hand  on  his  shoulder : 

"  That  man  hides  in  his  heart  a  hor 
rible  secret,  which  I  am  ignorant  of, 
but  have  sworn  to  discover."] 


CHAPTER    XV. 

FRAY    AMBROSIO. 

THE  monk  remained  for  a  long  time 
in  the  room  of  the  meson,  taking  down 
the  names  of  the  adventurers  he  wished 
to  enrol  in  his  band.  It  was  late  when 
he  left  it  to  return  to  the  Hacienda  de 
la  Noria ;  but  he  was  satisfied  with  his 


night's  work,  and  internally  rejoiced  at 
the  rich  collection  of  bandits  of  the 
purest  water  he  had  recruited. 

The  monks  form  a  privileged  caste 
in  Mexico :  they  can  go  at  all  hours  of 
the  night  wherever  they  please  without 
fearing  the  numerous  '*  gentlemen  of 
the  road,"  scattered  about  the  highways. 
Their  gown  inspires  a  respect  which 
guarantees  them  from  any  insult,  and 
preserves  them  better  than  anything 
from  unpleasant  recontres.  Besides, 
Fray  Ambrosio,  as  the  reader  has 
doubtless  already  perceived,  was  not 
the  man  to  neglect  indispensable  pre 
cautions  in  a  country  where,  out  of  ten 
persons  you  meet  on  your  road,  you 
may  boldly  assert  that  nine  are  rogues, 
the  tenth  alone  offering  any  doubts. 
The  worthy  chaplain  carried  under  his 
gown  a  pair  of  double-barrelled  pistols, 
and  in  his  right  sleeve  he  concealed  a 
long  navaja,  sharp  as  a  razor,  and  point 
ed  as  a  needle. 

Not  troubling  himself  about  the  soli 
tude  that  reigned  around  him,  the  monk 
mounted  his  mule  and  proceeded  quietly 
to  the  hacienda.  It  was  about  eleven 
o'clock. 

A  few  words  about  Fray  Ambrosio, 
while  he  is  peacefully  ambling  along 
the  narrow  path  which  will  lead  him  in 
two  hours  to  his  destination,  will  show 
all  the  perversity  of  the  man  who  is 
destined  to  play  an  unfortunately  too 
important  part  in  the  course  of  our 
narrative. 

One  day  a  gambusino,  or  gold  seeker, 
who  had  disappeared  for  two  years,  no 
one  knowing  what  had  become  of  him, 
and  who  was  supposed  to  be  dead  long 
ago,  assassinated  in  the  desert  by  the 
Indians,  suddenly  reappeared  at  the  Paso 
del  Norte.  This  man,  Joaquin  by 
name,  was  brother  to  Andres  Garote, 
an  adventurer  of  the  worst  stamp,  who 
had  at  least  a  dozen  cuchilladas  (knife 
stabs)  on  his  conscience,  whom  every 
body  feared,  but  who,  through  the  ter 
ror  he  inspired,  enjoyed  at  the  Paso,  in 
spite  of  his  well-avouched  crimes,  a 
reputation  and  species  of  impunity 
which  he  abused  whenever  the  opportu 
nity  offered. 

The  two  brothers  began  frequenting 
together  the  niesous  and  ventas  of  the 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


Tillage,  drinking  from  morn  till  night, 
and  paying  either  in  gold  dust  enclosed 
in  stout  quills,  or  in  lumps  of  native 
gold.  The  rumor  soon  spread  at  Paso 
that  Joaquin  had  discovered  a  rich 
placer,  and  that  his  expenses  were  paid 
with  the  specimens  he  had  brought  back. 
The  gambusino  replied  neither  yes  nor 
no  to  the  several  insinuations  which  his 
friends,  or  rather  his  boon  companions, 
attempted  on  him.  He  twinkled  his 
eyes,  smiled  mysteriously,  and  if  it 
were  observed  that,  at  the  rate  he  was 
living  at,  he  would  soon  be  ruined,  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  saying  : 

"  When  I  have  none  left  I  know  where 
to  find  others." 

And  he  continued  to  enjoy  his  fill  of 
all  the  pleasures  which  a  wretched  hole 
like  Paso  can  furnish. 

Fray  Ambrosio  had  heard  speak,  like 
every  one  else,  of  the  gambusino's  as 
serted  discovery  ;  and  his  plan  was  at 
once  formed  to  become  master  of  this 
man's  secret,  and  rob  him  of  his  dis 
covery,  were  that  possible. 

The  same  evening  Joaquin  and  his 
brother  Andres  were  drinking,  according 
to  their  wont,  in  a  meson,  surrounded 
by  a  crowd  of  scamps  like  themselves. 
Fray  Ambrosio,  seated  at  a  table  with 
his  hands  hidden  in  the  sleeves  of  his 
gown,  and  hanging  head,  appeared 
plunged  in  serious  reflections,  although 
he  followed  with  a  cunning  eye  the 
various  movements  of  the  drinkers,  and 
not  one  of  their  gestures  escaped  him. 

Suddenly  a  man  entered,  with  his 
hand  on  his  hip,  and  throwing  in  the  face 
of  the  first  person  he  passed  the  ciga 
rette  he  was  smoking.  He  planted 
himself  in  front  of  Joaquin,  to  whom 
he  said  nothing,  but  began  looking  at 
him  impudently,  shrugging  his  shoul 
ders,  and  laughing  ironically  at  all  the 
gambusino  said.  Joaquin  was  not  pa 
tient,  he  saw  at  the  first  glance  that  this 
person  wished  to  pick  a  quarrel  with 
him  ;  and  as  he  was  brave,  and  feared 
nobody,  man  or  devil,  he  walked 
boldly  up  to  him,  and  looking  at  him 
fixedly  in  his  turn,  he  said  to  him,  as  he 
thrust  his  face  in  his  : 

"  Do  you   seek  a  quarrel,  Tomaso  ?" 

"Why  not?"  the  latter  said  impu 
dently,  as  he  set  his  glass  on  the  table. 


"  I  am  your  man.  We  will  fight  how 
you  please." 

"Bah  !"  Tomaso  said  carelessly,  "let 
us  do  things  properly,  and  fight  with 
the  whole  blade." 

"  Be  it  so." 

The  combats  which  take  place  be 
tween  the  adventurers  are  truly  like 
those  of  wild  beasts.  These  coarse 
men,  with  their  cruel  instincts,  like 
fighting  beyond  all  else,  for  the  smell 
of  blood  intoxicates  them.  The  an 
nouncement  of  this  duel  caused  a  thrill 
of  pleasure  to  run  through  the  ranks  of 
the  leperos  and  bandits  who  pressed 
round  the  two  men.  The  fun  was  per 
fect  :  one  of  the  adversaries  would 
doubtless  fall  —  perhaps  both  —  and 
blood  flow  in  streams.  Cries  and  yells 
of  delight  were  raised  by  the  specta 
tors. 

The  duel  with  knives  is  the  only  one 
that  exists  in  Mexico,  and  is  solely  left 
to  the  leperos  and  people  of  the  lowest 
classes.  This  duel  has  its  rules,  which 
cannot  be  broken  under  any  pretext. 
The  knives  usually  employed,  have 
blades  from  fourteen  to  sixteen  inches 
in  length,  and  the  duelists  fight  accord 
ing  to  the  gravity  of  the  insult,  with 
one,  two,  three,  six  inches,  or  the  entire 
blade.  The  inches  are  carefully  mea 
sured  and  the  hand  clutches  the  knife  at 
the  marked  spot. 

This  time  it  was  a  duel  with  the 
whole  blade,  the  most  terrible  of  all. 
With  extraordinary  politeness  and  cool 
ness  the  landlord  had  a  large  ring  form 
ed  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  where 
the  two  adversaries  stationed  them 
selves,  about  six  paces  from  each  other 
at  the  most. 

A  deep  silence  hung  over  the  room,  a 
moment  previously  so  full  of  life  and 
disturbance  ;  every  one  anxiously 
awaited  the  denouement  of  the  terrible 
drama  that  was  preparing.  Fray  Am 
brosio  alone  had  not  quitted  his  seat  or 
made  a  sign. 

The  two  men  rolled  their  zarapes 
round  their  left  arm,  planted  themselves 
firmly  on  their  outstretched  legs,  bent 
their  bodies  slightly  forward  and  gently 
placing  the  point  of  the  knife-blade  on 
the  arm  rounded  in  front  of  the  chest, 
they  waited,  fixed  on  each  other  flashing 


66 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


glances.  A  few  seconds  elapsed,  during 
which  the  adversaries  remained  perfect 
ly  motionless :  all  hearts  were  con 
tracted,  all  bosoms  heaving. 

Worthy  of  Callot's  pencil  was  the 
scene  offered  by  these  men,  with  their 
•weather-stained  faces  and  harsh  features, 
and  their  clothes  in  rag's,  forming  a 
circle  round  two  combatants  ready  to 
kill  each  other  in  this  mean  room, 
slightly  illumined  by  a  smoky  lamp, 
which  flushed  upon  the  blue  blades  of 
the  knives,  and  in  the  shadow,  almost 
disappearing  in  his  black  gown,  the 
monk,  with  his  implacable  glance  and 
mocking  smile,  who,  like  a  tiger  thirst 
ing  for  blood,  awaited  the  hour  to 
pounce  .on  his  prey. 

Suddenly,  by  a  spontaneous  move 
ment  rapid  as  lightning,  the  adversaries 
rushed  on  each  other,  uttering  a  yell  o'f 
fury.  The  blades  flashed,  there  was  a 
clashing  of  steel,  and  both  fell  back 
again.  Joaquin  and  Toinaso  had  both 
dealt  the  same  stroke,  called,  in  the 
slang  of  the  country,  the  "  blow  of  the 
brave  man."  Each  had  his  face  slash 
ed  from  top  to  bottom  with  a  gaping 
wound. 

The  spectators  frenziedly  applauded 
this  magnificent  opening  scene :  the 
jaguars  had  scented  blood,  and  were 
mad. 

"  What  a  glorious  fight !"  they  ex 
claimed  with  admiration. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  two  combat 
ants,  rendered  hideous  by  the  blood 
that  streamed  from  their  wounds  and 
stained  their  faces,  were  again  watching 
for  the  moment  to  leap  on  one  another. 
Suddenly  they  broke  ground  ;  but  this 
time  it  was  no  skirmish,  but  the  real 
fight,  atrocious  and  merciless.  The 
two  men  seized  each  other  round  the 
waist,  and  entwined  like  serpents,  they 
twisted  about,  trying  to  stab  each  other, 
and  exciting  themselves  to  the  struggle 
by  cries  of  rage  and  triumph.  The  en 
thusiasm  of  the  spectators  was  at  its 
height :  they  laughed,  clapped  hands, 
ami  uttered  inarticulate  howls  as  they 
urged  the  fighters  not  to  loose  their 
hold. 

At  length  the  enemies  rolled  on  the 
ground  still  enclasped.  For  some  sec 


onds  the  combat  continued  on  the 
ground,  and  it  was  impossible  to  distin 
guish  who  was  the  conqueror.  All  at 
once  one  of  them,  who  no  longer  had  a 
human  form,  and  whose  body  was  as 
red  as  an  Indian's,  bounded  to  his  feet 
brandishing  his  knife.  It  was  Joaquin. 

His  brother  rushed  toward  him  to 
congratulate  him  on  his  victory,  but  all 
at  once  the  gambusino  tottered  and 
fainted.  Tomaso  did  not  rise  again  : 
he  remained  motionless,  stretched  out 
on  the  uneven  floor  of  the  meson.  He 
was  stark  dead. 

This  scene  had  been  so  rapid,  its  con 
clusion  so  unforeseen,  that,  in  spite  of 
themselves,  the  spectators  had  remain 
ed  dumb,  and  as  if  struck  with  stupor. 
Suddenly  the  priest,  whom  all  had  for 
gotten,  rose  and  walked  into  the  centre 
of  the  room,  looking  round  with  a 
glance  that  caused  all  to  let  their  eyes 
fall. 

"  Retire,  all  of  you,"  he  said  in  a 
gloomy  voice,  '*  now  that  you  have  al 
lowed  this  deed  worthy  of  savages  to 
be  accomplished.  The  priest  must  of 
fer  his  ministry,  and  get  back  from 
Satan,  if  there  be  still  time,  the  soul  of 
this  Christian  who  is  about  to  die. 
Begone  !" 

The  adventurers  hung  their  heads, 
and  in  a  few  moments  the  priest  was 
left  alone  with  the  two  men,  one  of 
whom  was  dead,  the  other  at  the  lust 
gasp.  No  one  could  say  what  occurred 
in  that  room  ;  but  when  the  priest  left 
it,  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  his  eyes 
flashed  wildly.  Joaquin  had  given  his 
parting  sigh.  On  opening  the  door  to 
go  out  Fray  Ambrosio  justled  against  a 
man,  who  drew  back  sharply  to  make 
room  for  him. 

It  was  Andres  Garote.  What  was 
he  doing  with  his  eye  at  the  keyhole 
while  the  monk  was  shriving  his  brother? 

The  adventurer  told  no  one  what  he 
had  seen  during  this  last  quarter  of  an 
hour,  nor  did  the  monk  notice  in  the 
shade  the  man  he  had  almost  thrown 
down. 

Such  was  the  way  in  which  Fray 
Ambrosio  became  master  of  the  gambu- 
sino's  secret,  and  how  he  alone  knew  at 
present  the  spot  where  the  placer  was. 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


67 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

TWO    VARIETIES    OF    VILLAINS. 

Now  that  the  reader  is  well  informed 
touching  Fruy  Ambrosio,  we  will  follow 
him  on  his  road  home  from  the  meson. 
The  night  was  calm,  silent  and  serene. 
Not  a  sound  troubled  the  silence,  save 
'the  trot  of  the  mule  over  the  pebbles 
on  the  road,  or  at  times,  in  the  distance, 
the  snapping  bark  of  the  coyotes  chasing 
in  a  pack,  according  to  their  wont,  some 
straggling  hind. 

Fray  Ambrosio  ambled  gently  on, 
•while  "reflecting  on  the  events  of  the 
evening,  and  calculating  mentally  the 
probable  profits  of  the  expedition  he 
meditated.  He  had  left  far  behind  him 
the  last  houses  of  the  village,  and  was  ad 
vancing  cautiously  along  a  narrow  path 
that  wound  through  an  immense  sugar 
cane  field.  Already  the  shadow  of  the 
tall  hacienda  walls  stood  out  blackly  in 
the  horizon.  He  expected  to  reach  it 
within  twenty  minutes,  when  suddenly 
his  mule,  which  had  hitherto  gone  so 
quietly,  pricked  up  its  ears,  raised  its 
head,  and  stopped  short. 

Roughly  aroused  from  his  meditations 
by  this  unexpected  halt,  the  monk  look 
ed  about  for  some  obstacle  that  might 
impede  his  progress.  About  ten  paces 
from  him  a  man  was  standing  right  in 
the  middle  of  the  path.  Fray  Ambrosio 
was  a  man  not  easily  to  be  frightened  : 
besides,  he  was  well  armed.  He  drew 
out  one  of  the  pistols  hidden  under  his 
gown,  cocked  it,  and  prepared  to  cross- 
question  the  person  who  so  resolutely 
barred  his  way.  But  the  latter,  at  the 
sharp  sound  of  the  setting  hammer, 
thought  it  prudent  to  make  himself 
known,  and  not  await  the  consequences 
of  an  address  nearly  always  stormy  un 
der  similar  circumstances. 

"  Halloh !"  he  shouted  in  a  loud 
voice,  "  return  your  pistol  to  your  belt, 
Fray  Ambrosio  ;  I  only  want  to  talk 
with  you." 

"Diavolo  /"  the  monk  said,  "  the  hour 
and  moment  are  singularly  chosen  for 
a  friendly  conversation,  my  good  fel 
low." 

"Time    belongs    to     nobody,"    the 


stranger  answered  sententiously.  "  I 
am  obliged  to  choose  that  which  I  have 
at  my  disposal." 

"  That  is  true,"  the  monk  said  as  he 
quietly  uncocked  his  pistol,  though  not 
returning  it  to  his  belt.  "  Who  the 
deuce  are  you,  and  why  are  you  so 
anxious  to  speak  with  me "?  Do  you 
want  to  confess  ?" 

"  Have  you  not  recognized  me  yet, 
Fray  Ambrosio?  Must  I  tell  you  my 
name  that  you  may  know  with  whom 
you  have  to  deal  ?" 

"  Needless,  my  good  sir,  needless  ; 
but  how  the  deuce  is  it,  Red  Cedar,  that 
I  meet  you  here  ?  What  can  you  have 
so  pressing  to  communicate  to  me  ?" 

"  You  shall  know  if  you  will  stop  for 
a  few  moments  and  dismount." 

"  The  deuce  take  you  with  your 
whims !  Cannot  you  tell  me  that  as 
well  to-morrow  1  Night  is  getting  on, 
my  home  is  still  some  distance  off  and 
I  am  literally  worn  out." 

"  Bah  !  you  will  sleep  capitally  by 
the  side  of  a  ditch,  where  you  could 
not  be  more  comfortable.  Besides, 
what  I  have  to  say  to  you  does  not  ad 
mit  of  delay." 

"  You  wish  to  make  a  proposal  to 
me,  then  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  What  about,  if  you  please?" 

"  About  the  aftUir  we  discussed  this 
evening  at  the  Paso." 

"  Why,  I  fancied  we  had  settled  all 
that,  and  you  accepted  my  offer." 

"  Not  yet,  not  yet,  my  master.  That 
will  depend  on  the  conversation  we  are 
about  to  have,  so  you  had  better  dis 
mount  and .  sit  down  quietly  by  my 
side ;  for  if  you  don't  do  it,  it  will 
come  to  nothing." 

"  The  deuce  take  people  that  change 
their  minds  every  minute,  and  on  whom 
one  cannot  reckon  more  than  on  an  old 
surplice  !"  the  monk  growled  with  an 
air  of  annoyance,  while,  for  all  that, 
getting  off  his  mule,  which  he  fastened 
to  a  shrub. 

The  squatter  did  not  seem  to  remark 
the  chaplain's  ill-temper,  and  let  him 
sit  down  by  his  side  without  uttering  a 
syllable. 

"  Here  I  am,"  the  monk  went  on,  so 


68 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


soon  as  he  was  seated.  "  I  really  do  not 
know,  Red  Cedar,  why  I  yield  so  easily 
to  all  your  whims." 

"  Because  you  suspect  that  your  in 
terest  depends  on  it :  were  it  not  for 
that,  you  would  not  do  so." 

"  Why  talk  thus  in  the  open  country, 
instead  of  going  to  your  house,  where 
we  should  be  much  more  comfortable  ?" 

Red  Cedar  shook  his  head  in  denial. 

"  No,"  he  said  ;  "  the  open  is  better 
for  what  we  have  to  talk  about.  Here 
we  need  not  fear  listeners  at  out  doors." 

"That  is  true.  Well,  go  on ;  I  am 
listening." 

"  Hum  !  you  insist  upon  my  com 
manding  the  expedition  you  project  ?" 

"  Of  course.  I  have  known  you  a 
long  time.  I  am  aware  that  you  are  a 
sure  man,  perfectly  versed  in  Indian 
signs  ;  for,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  the 
greater  part  of  your  life  has  been  spent 
among  them." 

"  Do  not  speak  about  what  I  have 
done.  •  The  question  now  concerns  you, 
and  not  me." 

"  How  so  T 

"  Good,  good  !  Let  me  speak.  You 
need  me,  so  it  is  to  my  interest  to  make 
you  pay  as  dearly  as  I  can  for  me." 

"Eh1?"  the  monk  muttered,  as  he 
made  a  grimace.  "  I  am  not  rich,  gos 
sip,  as  you  are  aware." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  know  that,  so  soon  as 
you  have  a  few  piastres  or  ounces,  the 
rnonte  table  strips  you  of  them  imme 
diately." 

"Hang  it!  I  have  always  been  un 
lucky  at  play." 

"  For  that  reason  I  do  not  intend  ask 
ing  you  for  money." 

"Very  good.  If  you  have  no  designs 
on  my  purse  we  can  easily  come  to  an 
understanding.  You  may  speak  boldly." 

"  I  hope  that  we  shall  easily  under 
stand  one  another,  the  mere  so  as  the 
service  I  expect  from  you  is  almost  a 
mere  nothing." 

"  Come  to  the  point,  Red  Cedar : 
with  your  deuced  way  of  twining  your 
phrases  together  in  the  Indian  way,  you 
never  make  an  end  of  it." 

"  You  know  that  I  have  a  deadly 
hatred  against  Don  Miguel  Zarate  ?" 

"  I  have  heard  some  say  about  it. 


Did  he  not  lodge  his  knife  somewhere 
in  your  chest  ?" 

"Yes,  and  the  blow  was  so  rude  that 
I  all  but  died  of  it ;  but,  thanks  to  the 
devil,  I  am  on  my  legs  again,  after  re 
maining  three  weeks  on  my  back  like  a 
cast  sheep.  I  want  my  revenge." 

"  I  can't  help  saying  you  are  right : 
in  your  place,  may  Satan  twist  my  neck 
if  I  would  not  do  the  same  !" 

"  For  that  I  count  on  your  help." 

"  Hum  !  that  is  a  delicate  affair.  I 
have  no  cause  of  complaint  against  Don 
Miguel — on  the  contrary  :  besides,  I  do 
not  see  how  I  can  serve  you." 

"  Oh  !  very  easily." 

"  You  believe  so  ?" 

"  You  shall  see." 

"  Go  on,  then  ;  I  arn  listening." 

"  Don  Miguel  has  a  daughter  ?" 

"  Dona  Clara." 

"  I  mean  to  carry  her  off." 

"  Deuce  take  the  mad  ideas  that  pass 
through  your  brain-pan,  gossip  !  How 
would  you  have  me  help  you  in  carry 
ing  off  the  daughter  of  Don  Miguel,  to 
whom  I  owe  so  many  obligations  ?  No, 
I  cannot  do  that,  indeed." 

"  You  must,  though." 

"  I  will  not,  I  tell  you." 

"  Measure  youj;  words  well,  FrayAm- 
brosio,  for  this  conversation  is  serious. 
Before  refusing  so  peremptorily  to  give 
me  the  help  I  ask,  reflect  well." 

"  I  have  reflected  well,  Red  Cedar, 
and  never  will  I  consent  to  help  you 
in  carrying  off  the  daughter  of  my  bene 
factor.  Say  what  you  like,  nothing 
will  ever  change  my  resolution  on  that 
head,  for  it  is  inflexible." 

"  Perhaps." 

"  Oh  !  whatever  may  happen,  I  swear 
that  nothing  will  make  rne  alter." 

'•  Swear  not,  Fray  Ambrosio,  for  you 
will  be  a  perjurer." 

"  Ta,  ta,  ta  !  you  are  mad,  my  good 
fellow.  Don't  let  us  waste  our  time. 
If  you  have  nothing  else  to  say  to  me, 
I  will  leave  you,  though  I  take  such 
pleasure  in  your  society." 

"  You  have  become  scrupulous  all  of 
a  sudden,  my  master." 

"  There  is  a  beginning  to  everything, 
compadre;  so  let  us  say  no  more,  but 
good-bye." 


THE   TRAIL-HUNTER. 


69 


And  the  monk  rose. 

"  You  are  really  going  ?" 

"  Carai !  do  you  fancy  I  mean  to 
sleep  here  ?" 

"  Very  good.  You  understand  that 
you  need  not  count  on  me  for  your  ex 
pedition1?" 

"  1  am  sorry  for  it;  but  I  will  try  to 
find  some  one  to  take  your  place." 

"Thank  you." 

The  two  men  were  standing,  and  the 
monk  had  put  his  foot  in  the  stirrup. 

Red  Cedar  also  appeared  ready  to 
make  a  start.  At  the  moment  of  sepa 
ration  a  sudden  idea  seemed  to  occur  to 
the  squatter. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  said  carelessly, 
"  be  kind  enough  to  give  me  some  in 
formation  I  require." 

"  What  is  it  now?"  the  monk  asked. 

"  Oh  !  a  mere  trifle,"  the  squatter  re 
marked  indifferently.  "  It  concerns  a 
certain  Don  Pedro  de  Tudela,  whom  I 
think  you  formerly  knew." 

"Eh?'  the  monk  exclaimed,  as  he 
turned,  with  his  leg  still  in  the  air. 

"  Come,  come,  Fray  Ambrosio,"  Red 
Cedar  continued  in  a  jeering  voice,  "let 
us  have  a  little  more  talk  together.  I 
will  tell  you,  if  you  like,  a  very  re 
markable  story  about  this  Don  Pedro, 
with  whom  you  were  acquainted." 

The  monk  was  livid  ;  a  nervous  tre 
mor  agitated  all  his  limbs  ;  he  let  loose 
his  mule's  bridle,  and  followed  the 
squatter  mechanically,  who  seated  him 
self  tranquilly  on  the  ground,  making 
him  a  si<in  to  follow  his  example.  The 
monk  fell,  suppressing  a  sigh,  and  wip 
ing  away  the  drops  of  cold  perspiration 
that  beaded  on  his  forehead. 

"  Eh,  eh  !"  the  squatter  continued  at 
the  end  of  a  moment,  "  we  must  allow 
that  Don  Pedro  was  a  charming  gentle 
man — a  little  wild,  perhaps  ;  but  what 
would  you  have  ?  He  was  young.  I 
remember  meeting  him  at  Albany  a 
long  time  ago — some  sixteen  or  seven 
teen  years  ago — how  old  one  gets! — at 
the  house  of  one — wait  awhile,  the 
name  has  slipped  my  memory — could 
you  not  help  me  to  it,  Fray  Ambrosio  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean,"  the 
monk  said  in  a  hollow  voice. 

The  man  was  in  a  state  that  would 
have  produced  pity  ;  the  veins  in  his 


forehead  were  swollen  ready  to  burst ; 
he  was  choking  ;  his  right  hand  clutched 
the  hilt  of  his  dagger;  and  he  bent  on 
the  squatter  a  glance  full  of  deadly 
hatred.  The  latter  seemed  to  see  noth 
ing  of  all  this. 

"  I  have  it !"  he  continued.  "  The 
man's  name  was  Walter  Brunnel,  a 
very  worthy  gentleman." 

"  Demon  !"  the  monk  howled  in  a 
gasping  voice,  "  I  know  not  who  made 
you  master  of  that  horrible  secret,  but 
you  shall  die." 

And  he  rushed  upon  him,  dagger  in 
hand. 

Red  Cedar  had  known  Fray  Ambro 
sio  a  long  time,  and  was  on  his  guard. 
By  a  rapid  movement  he  checked  his 
arm,  twisted  it,  and  seized  the  dagger, 
which  he  threw  a  long  distance  off. 

"  Enough,"  he  said  in  a  harsh  voice. 
"  We  understand  one  another,  my  mas 
ter.  Do  not  play  that  game  with  me, 
for  you  will  be  sick  of  it,  I  warn  you." 

The  monk  fell  back  on  his  seat,  -with 
out  the  strength  to  make  a  sign  or  ut 
ter  a  syllable.  The  squatter  regarded 
him  for  a  moment  with  mingled  pity 
and  contempt  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  For  sixteen  years  i  have  held  that 
secret,"  he  said,  "  and  it  has  never 
passed  my  lips.  I  will  continue  to 
keep  silence  on  one  condition." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  I  want  you  to  help  me  in  carrying 
off  the  haciendero's  daughter." 

"  I  will  do  it." 

"  Mind,  I  expect  honest  assistance  ; 
so  do  not  attempt  any  treachery." 

"  I  will  help  you,  I  tell  you." 

"  Good  !  I  count  on  your  word.  Be 
sides  you  may  be  easy,  master  ;  1  will 
watch  you." 

"  Enough  of  threats.  What  is  to  be 
done  ?" 

"  When  do  we  start  for  Apacheria?" 

"  You  are  coming,  then  ?" 

"  Of  course." 

A  sinister  smile  played  round  the 
monk's  pale  lips. 

"  We  shall  start  in  a  week,"  he  said. 

"  Good  !  On  the  day  of  the  start 
you  will  hand  over  the  girl  to  me,  one 
hour  before  our  departure." 

"  What  shall  1  do  to  compel  her  to 
follow  me  ?" 


70 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


"  That  is  not  my  business." 

«  Still " 

"  I  insist." 

"  Be  it  so,"  the  monk  said  with  an 
effort.  "I  will  do  it;  but  remember, 
demon,  if  I  ever  hold  you  in  my  hands, 
as  I  am  this  day  in  yours,  I  shall  be 
pitiless  and  make  you  pay  for  all  I 
buffer  at  this  moment." 

"  You  will  be  right  to  do  so — it  is 
your  due;  still  I  doubt  whether  you 
will  ever  be  able  to  reach  me." 

"  Perhaps." 

"  Live  and  learn.  In  the  meanwhile 
1  am  your  master,  and  I  reckon  on  your 
obedience." 

"  I  will  obey." 

"  That  is  settled.  Now,  one  thing 
more ;  how  many  men  have  you  en 
listed  this  evening  ?" 

"  About  twenty." 

"  That's  not  many ;  but,  with  the 
sixty  I  shall  supply,  we  shall  have  a 
very  decent  band  to  hold  the  Indians  in 
check." 

"  May  heaven  grant  it !" 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  my  master,"  the 
squatter  said,  re-assuming  the  friendly 
tone  which  he  employed  at  the  outset 
of  the  conversation  ;  "  1  pledge  myself 
to  lead  you  straight  to  your  placer.  I 
have  not  lived  ten  years  with  the  In 
dians  not  to  be  up  to  all  their  tricks." 

"  Of  course,"  the  monk  answered  as 
he  rose,  "  You  know,  lied  Cedar,  what 
was  agreed  upon ;  the  placer  will  be 
shared  between  us.  It  is,  therefore,  to 
your  interest  to  enable  us  to  reach  it 
without  obstacle." 

"  We  shall  reach  it.  Now  that  we 
have  nothing  more  to  say  to  each  other 
and  have  agreed  on  all  points — for  we 
have  done  so,  I  think  V  he  said  signifi 
cantly. 

"  Yes,  all." 

"  We  can  part,  and  go  each  home. 
No  matter,  my  master !  I  told  you 
that  1  should  succeed  in  making  you 
alter  your  mind.  Look  you,  Fray 
Ambrosio,"  he  added  in  impudent  tone, 
which  made  the  monk  turn  pale  with 
rage  ;  "  people  need  only  to  understand 
one  another  to  do  anything." 

He  rose,  threw  his  rifle  over  his 
shoulder,  and  turning  away  sharply, 
went  off  with  lengthened  strides.  The 


monk  remained  for  a  moment  as  if 
stunned  by  what  had  happened.  Sud 
denly  he  thrust  his  hand  under  his 
gown,  seized  a  pistol,  and  aimed  at  the 
squatter.  But  ere  he  had  time  to  pull 
the  trigger  his  enemy  disappeared 
round  a  turning,  uttering  a  formidable 
burst  of  laughter,  which  the  mocking 
echo  bore  to  his  ear,  and  revealed  to 
him  all  the  immensity  of  his  impotence. 

"  Oh !"  he  muttered  as  he  got  in  the 
saddle,  <c"how  did  this  fiend  discover  the 
secret  which  1  believed  no  one  knew  ?" 

And  he  went  off  gloomy  and  thought 
ful.  Half  an  hour  later  he  reached  the 
Hacienda  de  la  Noria,  when  the  gate 
was  opened  for  him  by  a  trusty  peon, 
for  everybody  was  asleep.  It  was  past 
midnight. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

EL   CANON    DEL    BUITRE. 

WE  will  now  return  to  the  haoiendero, 
who,  accompanied  by  his  two  friends,  is 
galloping  at  full  speed  in  the  direction 
of  Valentine's  jacal.  The  road  the 
three  men  followed  led  them  further 
and  further  from  the  Paso  del  Norte. 
Around  them  nature  grew  more  abrupt, 
the  scenery  sterner.  They  had  left  the 
forest,  and  were  galloping  over  a  wide 
and  arid  plain.  On  each  side  of  the 
way  the  trees",  becoming  rarer,  defiled 
[ike  a  legion  of  phantoms.  They  crossed 
several  tributary  streams  of  the  Del 
Norte,  in  which  their  horses  were  im 
mersed  up  to  the  chest. 

At  length  they  entered  a  ravine 
deeply  imbedded  between  two  wooded 
tiills,  the  soil  of  which,  composed  of 
large  flat  stones  and  rounded  pebbles, 
proved  that  this  spot  was  one  of  those 
desaguaderos  which  serve  to  carry  off 
the  waters  in  the  rainy  season.  They 
lad  reached  the  Canon  del  Buitre,  so 
named  on  account  of  the  numerous  vul 
tures  constantly  perched  on  the  tops  of 
the  surrounding  hills. 

The  defile  was  deserted,  and  Valen 
ine  had  his  cabin  not  far  from  this  spot. 
So   soon   as   the   three   men   had   dis 
mounted,  Curumilla  took  the  horses  and 
led  them  to  the  jacal. 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


71 


"  Follow  me,"  Valentine  said  to  Don 
Miguel. 

The  latter  obeyed,  and  the  two  men 
began  then  climbing  the  escarped  flank 
of  the  right-hand   hill.     The  climb  wa 
rude,  for  no  road  was  traced ;  but  the 
two  hunters,  long  accustomed  to  force 
a    passage  through  the  most  impracti 
cable  places,  seemed  hardly  to  perceive 
the  difficulty  of  the  ascent,  which  would 
have  been  impossible  for  men  less  used 
to  a  desert  life. 

"  This  spot  is  really  delicious,"  Val 
entine  said  with  the  complacent  simpli 
city  of  a  land-owner  who  boasts  of  his 
estate.  "  If  it  were  day,  Don  Miguel, 
you  would  enjoy  from  this  spot  a  mag 
nificent  view.  A  few  hundred  yards 
from  the  place  where  we  are,  down 
there  on  that  hill  to  the  right,  are  the 
ruins  of  an  ancient  Aztec  camp  in  a  very 
fine  state  of  preservation.  Just  ima 
gine  that  this  hill,  carved  by  human 
hands,  though  you  cannot  see  it  in  the 
darkness,  is  of  the  shape  of  a  pyramidal 
cone :  its  base  is  triangular,  the  sides 
are  covered  with  masonry,  and  it  is  di 
vided  into  several  terraces.  The  plat 
form  is  about  ninety  yards  long  by 
seventy-five  in  width,  and  is  surrounded 
on  three  sides  by  a  platform,  and  flanked 
by  a  bastion  on  the  north.  You  see 
that  it  is  a  perfect  fortress,,  constructed 
according  to  all  the  rules  of  military 
art.  On  the  platform  ate  the  remains 
of  a  species  of  small  teocali,  about 
twenty  feet  high,  composed  of  large 
stones  covered  with  hieroglyphics  sculp 
tured  in  relief,-  representing  weapons, 
monsters,  rabbits,  crocodiles,  and  all 
sorts  of  things  ;  for  instance,  men  seated 
in  the  oriental  fashion,  and  wearing 
spectacles.  Is  not  that  really  curious1? 
This  little  monument,  which  has  no 
staircase,  doubtless  served  as  the  last 
refuge  to  the  besieged  when  they  were 
too  closely  beleaguered  by  the  enemy." 

"It  is  astonishing,"  Don  Miguel  an 
swered,  "  that  1  never  heard  of  these 
ruins." 

"  Who  knows  them?  Nobody.  How 
ever,  they  bear  a  considerable  likeness 
to  those  found  at  Jochicalco." 

"  Where  are  you  leading  me,  my 
friend  ?  Are  you  aware  that  the  road 


is  not  one  of  the  pleasantest,  and  I  am 
beginning  to  feel  tired  ?" 

"  A  little  patience :  in  ten  minutes 
we  shall  arrive.  I  am  leading  you  to  a 
natural  grotto  which  I  discovered  a  short 
time  back.  It  is  admirable.  It  is  prob 
able  that  the  Spaniards  were  unacquaint 
ed  with  it,  although  the  Indians,  to  my 
knowledge,  have  visited  it  from  time 
immemorial.  The  Apaches  imagine  it 
serves  as  a  palace  to  the  genius  of  the 
mountain.  At  any  rate,  I  was  so  struck 
by  its  beauty  that  1  abandoned  my  jacal, 
and  converted  it  into  my  residence.  Its 
extent  is  immense.  I  am  certain,  though 
1  never  tried  to  convince  myself,  that  it 
goes  for  more  that  ten  leagues  under 
ground.  I  will  not  allude  to  the  stalac 
tites  that  hang  from  the  roof,  and  form 
the  quaintest  and  most  curious  designs; 
but  the  thing  that  struck  me  is  this: 
this  grotto  is  divided  into  an  infinite 
number  of  chambers,  some  of  them  con 
taining  pools  in  which  swim  immense 
numbers  of  blind  fish." 

"  Blind  fish !  You  are  jesting,  my 
friend,"  Don  Miguel  exclaimed,  and 
stopped. 

"  1  am  wrong :  blind  is  not  the  word 
I  should  have  employed,  for  these  fish 
have  no  eyes." 

"  What!  no  eyes?" 

"  None  at  all ;  but  that  does  not  pre 
vent  them  being  very  dainty  food." 

"  That  is  strange." 

"  Is  it  not  ?  But  stay — we  have  ar 
rived." 

In  fact,  they  found  themselves  in  front 
of  a  gloomy,  gaping  orifice,  about  ten 
feet  high  by  eight  wide. 

"  Let  me  do  the  honors  of  my  man 
sion,"  Valentine  said. 

"  Do  so,  my  friend." 

The  two  men  entered  the  grotto  :  the 
hunter  struck  a  match,  and  lit  a  torch 
of  candle- wood.  The  fairy  picture 
which  suddenly  rose  before  Don  Miguel 
drew  from  him  a  cry  of  admiration. 
There  was  an  indescribable  contusion : 
iiere  a  gothic  chapel,  with  its  graceful 
soaring-  pillars;  further  on,  obelisks, 
cones,  trunks  of  trees  covered  with 
moss  and  acanthus  leaves,  hollow  stalac 
tites  of  a  cylindrical  form,  drawn  to 
gether  and  ranged  side  by  side  like  the 


72 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


pipes  of  an  organ,  and  yielding  to  the 
slightest  touch  varied  metallic  sounds 
which  completed  the  illusion.  Then,  in 
the  i mmeasurable  depths  of  these  cavern 
ous  halls,  at  times  formidable  sounds 
arose,  which,  returned  by  the  echoes, 
rolled  along  the  sides  of  the  grotto  like 
peals  of  thunder. 

"  Oh,  it  is  grand,  it  is  grand  !"  Don 
Miguel  exclaimed,  struck  with  fear  and 
respect  at  the  sight. 

"  Does  not  man,"  Valentine  answer 
ed,  "  feel  very  small  and  miserable  be 
fore  these  sublime  creations  of  nature, 
which  God  has  scattered  here  as  if  in 
sport?  Oh,  my  friend!  it  is  only  in 
the  desert  that  we  understand  the  gran 
deur  and  infinite  omnipotence  of  the 
Supreme  Being ;  for  at  every  step  man 
finds  himself  face  to  face  with  Him  who 
placed  him  on  this  earth,  and  traces  the 
mark  of  His  mighty  finger  engraved  in 
an  indelible  manner  on  everything  that 
presents  itself  to  his  sight." 

"  Yes,"  Don  Miguel  said,  who  had 
suddenly  become  thoughtful,  "  it  is 
only  in  the  desert  that  a  man  learns  to 
know,  love,  and  fear  God,  for  He  is 
everywhere." 

"  Come,"  said  Valentine. 

He  led  his  friend  to  a  hall  of  not 
more  than  twenty  square  feet,  the  vault 
of  which,  however,  was  more  than  a 
hundred  yards  above  them.  In  this 
hall  a  fire  was  lighted.  The  two  men 
sat  down  on  the  ground  and  waited, 
while  thinking  deeply.  After  a  few 
moments  the  sound  of  footsteps  was 
audible,  and  the  Mexican  quickly  raised 
his  head. 

Valentine  did  not  stir,  for  he  had  re 
cognized  his  friend's  tread.  In  fact, 
within  a  moment  the  Indian  chief  ap 
peared. 

"  Well  ?"  Valentine  asked  him. 

"  Nothing  yet,"  Curumila  laconically 
answered. 

"  They  are  late,  I  fancy,"  Don  Mi 
guel  observed. 

"  No,"  the  chief  continued,  "  it  is 
hardly  half-past  eleven :  we  are  before 
our  time." 

"  But  will  they  find  us  here  ?" 

"  They  know  we  shall  await  them  in 
this  hall." 

After  these  few  words  each  fell  back 


into  his  thoughts.  The  silence  was  only 
troubled  by  the  mysterious  sounds  of 
the  grotto,  which  re-echoed  nearly  at 
equal  intervals  with  an  horrific  din.  A 
long  period  elapsed.  All  at  once,  ere 
any  sensible  noise  had  warned  Don 
Miguel,  Valentine  raised  his  head  with 
a  hurried  movement. 

"Here  they  are,"  he  said. 

"  You  are  mistaken,  my  friend,"  Don 
Miguel  observed  ;  "  1  heard  nothing."  1 

The  hunter  smiled. 

"  If  you  had  spent,"  he  said,  "  like 
we  have,  ten  years  in  the  desert,  in 
terrogating  the  mysterious  voices  of 
the  night,  your  ear  would  be  habituat 
ed  to  the  vague  rumors  and  sighs  of 
nature  which  have  no  meaning  to  you 
at  this  moment,  but  which  have  all 
a  significance  for  me,  and,  so  to  speak, 
a  voice  every  note  of  which  1  under 
stand,  and  you  would  not  say  I  was 
mistaken.  Ask  the  chief:  you  will 
hear  his  answer." 

"Two  men  are  climbing  the  hill  at 
this  moment,"  Curumilla  answered  sen- 
tentiously.  "They  are  an  Indian  and 
a  white  man." 

"  How  can  you  recognize  the  dis 
tinction  T* 

"Very  easily,"  Valentine  responded 
with  a  smile.  "  The  Indian  wears 
moccasins,  which  touch  the  ground 
without  producing  any  other  sound 
than  a  species  jof  friction  :  the  step  is 
sure  and  unhesitating,  as  taken  by  a 
man  accustomed  to  walk  in  the  desert, 
and  only  put  down  his  foot  firmly :  the 
white  man  wears  high-heeled  boots, 
which  at  each  step  produce  a  distinct 
and  loud  sound ;  the  spurs  fastened  to 
his  boots  give  out  a  continuous  metallic 
clink  ;  the  step  is  awkward  and  timid  ; 
at  each  moment  a  stone  or  crumble  of 
earth  rolls  away  under  the  foot,  which 
is  only  put  down  hesitatingly.  It  is 
easy  to  see  that  the  man  thus  walking 
is  accustomed  to  a  horse,  and  does  not 
know  the  use  of  his  feet.  Stay!  they 
are  now  entering  the  grotto  :  you  will 
soon  hear  the  signal." 

At  this  moment  the  bark  of  the 
coyote  was  raised  thrice  at  equal  inter 
vals.  Valentine  answered  by  a  similar 
cry. 

"  Well,  was  I  mistaken  ?"  he  said. 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


73 


"I  know  not  what  to  think,  my 
friend.  What  astonishes  me  most  is 
that  you  heard  them  so  long  before 
they  arrived." 

"  The  ground  of  this  cave  is  an  ex 
cellent  conductor  of  sound,"  the  hunter 
answered  simply :  "  that  is  all  the 
mystery." 
,  "  The  devil !"  Don  Miguel  could  not 
refrain  from  saying;  "you  neglect  no 
thing,  I  fancy." 

"If  a  man  wants  to  live  in  the  desert 
he  must  neglect  nothing  :  the  smallest 
things  have  their  importance,  and  an 
observation  carefully  made  may  often 
save  a  man's  life." 

While  these  few  words  were  being 
exchanged  between  the  two  friends  the 
noise  of  footsteps  was  heard  drawing 
nearer  and  nearer.  Two  men  appeared  : 
one  was  Eagle-wing,  the  Chief  of  the 
Coras ;  the  second,  General  Ibanez. 

The  general  was  a  man  of  about 
thirty-five,  tall  and  well-built,  with  a 
delicate  and  intelligent  face.  His  man 
ners  were  graceful  and  noble.  He 
bowed  cordially  to  the.  haciendero  and 
Valentine,  squeezed  Curumilla's  hand, 
and  fell  down  in  a  sitting  posture  by  the 
fire. 

"  OTif!"  he  said,  "I  am  done,  gentle 
men.  I  have  just  ridden  an  awful  dis 
tance.  My  poor  horse  is  foundered, 
and  to  recover  myself  I  made  an  ascent, 
during  which  I  thought  twenty  times  I 
must  break  down;  and  that  would  have 
infallibly  happened,  had  not  friend 
Eagle-wing  charitably  come  to  my  aid. 
1  must  confess  that  these  Indians  climb 
like  real  cats :  we  genie  de  razon*  are 
worth  nothing  for  that  trade." 

"  At  length  you  have  arrived,  my 
friend,"  Don  Miguel  answered.  "  Hea 
ven-be  praised!  I  was  anxious  to  see 
you." 

"  For  my  part  1  confess  that  my  im 
patience  was  equally  lively,  especially 
since  I  learned  the  treachery  of  that 
scoundrelly  Red  Cedar.  That  humbug 
of  a  Wood  sent  him  to  me  with  so  warm 
a  recommendation  that,  in  spite  of  all 
my  prudence,  i  let  myself  be  taken  in, 


*  Literally,  "men  of  reason  "—a  graceful  expres 
sion  the  whites  employ  to  distinguish  themselves 
from  the  Indiana,  \vhom  they  affect  to  consider  brute 
and  to  whom  they  do  not  even  grant  a  soul. 


and  nearly  told  him  all  our  secrets. 
Unfortunately,  the  little  I  did  let  him 
know  is  sufficient  to  have  us  shot  a  hun 
dred  times  like  vulgar  conspirators  of 
no  consequence." 

"  Do  not  feel  alarmed,  my  friend. 
After  what  Valentine  told  me  today, 
we  have,  perchance,  a  way  of  foiling  the 
tricks  of  the  infamous  spy  who  has  de 
nounced  us." 

"  May  Heaven  grant  it !  But  nothing 
will  remove  my  impression  that  Wood 
has  something  to  do  with  what  has  hap 
pened  to  us.  I  always  doubted  that 
American,  who  is  cold  as  an  iceberg, 
sour  as  a  glass  of  lemonade,  and  me 
thodical  as  a  Quaker.  What  good  is  to 
be  expected  from  these  men,  who  covet 
the  possession  of  our  territory,  and 
who,  unable  to  take  it  from  us  at  one 
lump,  tear  it  away  in  parcels?" 

"  Who  knows,  my  friend  ?  Perhaps 
you  are  right.  Unfortunately,  what  is 
done  cannot  be  helped,  and  our  retro 
spective  recriminations  will  do  us  no 
good." 

"  That  is  true ;  but,  as  you  know, 
man  is  the  same  everywhere.  When 
he  has  committed  a  folly  he  is  happy 
to  find  a  scapegoat  on  which  he  can  lay 
the  iniquitie  s  with  which  he  reproaches 
himself.  That  is  slightly  my  case  at 
this  moment." 

"  Do  not  take  more  blame  on  your 
self,  my  friend,  than  you  deserve  ;  I 
guarantee  your  integrity  and  the  loyalty 
of  your  sentiments.  Whatever  may 
happen,  be  persuaded  that  1  will  always 
do  you  justice,  and,  if  needed,  defend 
you  against  all." 

"  Thanks,  Don  Miguel.  What  you 
say  causes  me  pleasure  and  reconciles 
me  with  myself.  I  needed  the  assu 
rance  you  give  me  in  order  to  regain 
some  slight  courage,  and  not  let  myself 
be  completely  crushed  by  the  unfore 
seen  blow  which  threatens  to  overthrow 
our  hopes  at  the  very  moment  when  we 
expected  to  find  them  realised." 

"  Come,  come,  gentlemen,"  Valentine 
said,  "  the  time  is  slipping  away,  and 
we  have  none  to  waste.  Let  us  seek  to 
find  the  means  by  which  to  repair  the 
heck  we  have  suffered.  If  you  permit 
me  I  will  submit  to  your  approval  a 
plan  which,  I  believe,  combines  all  the 


74 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


desirable  chances  of  success,  and  wil 
turn  in  our  favor  the  very  treachery  t 
which  we  have  fallen  victims." 

"  Spe ak,  speak,  my  friend  !"  the  twi 
men  exclaimed,  as  they  prepared  to 
listen. 

Valentine  took  the  word. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

FATHER    SERAPHIN. 

"  GENTLEMEN,"  said  Valentine,  "  this 
is  what  I  propose.  The  treachery  of 
Red  Cedar,  in  surrendering  to  the 
Government  the  secret  of  your  con 
spiracy,  places  you  in  a  critical  posi 
tion,  from  which  you  cannot  escape  save 
by  violent  measures.  You  are  between 
life  and  death.  You  have  no  alterna 
tive  save  victory  or  defeat.  The  pow 
der  is  fired,  the  ground  is  mined  under 
your  feet,  and  an  explosion  is  imminent. 
Well,  then,  pick  up  the  glove  treachery 
throws  to  you — accept  frankly  the  posi 
tion  offered  you.  Do  not  wait  till  you 
lire  attacked,  but  commence  the  contest. 
Kemember  the  vulgar  adage,  which  is 
perfectly  true  in  politics,  and  specially 
in  revolution — that  '  the  first  blow  is 
half  the  battle.'  Your  enemies  will  be 
terrified  by  your  boldness — dashed  by 
this  uprising  which  they  are  far  from 
expecting,  especially  now,  when  they 
imagine  they  hold  in  their  hands  all  the 
threads  of  the  conspiracy — an  error 
which  makes  them  put  faith  in  the  re 
velations  of  a  common  spy,  and  will 
ruin  them  if  you  act  with  skill — above 
all,  with  promptitude.  All  depends  on 
the  first  blow.  It  must  be  terrible,  and 
terrify  them  :  if  not,  you  are  lost." 

"  All  that  is  true ;  but  we  lack  time," 
General  Ibanez  observed. 

"  Time  is  never  lacking  when  a  man 
knows  how  to  employ  it  properly," 
Valentine  answered  peremptorily.  "  I 
repeat,  you  must  be  beforehand  with 
your  adversaries." 

At  this  moment  the  sound  of  foot 
steps  was  heard  under  the  vault  of  the 
cave.  The  most  extreme  silence  at 
once  reigned  in  the  chamber  where  the 
five  conspirators  were  assembled.  Me 


chanically  each  sought  his  weapons. 
The  steps  rapidly  approached,  and  a 
man  appeared  in  the  entrance  of  the 
hall.  On  seeing  him  all  present  utter 
ed  a  cry  of  joy  and  rose  respectfully, 
repeating,  "  Father  Seraphin  !;' 

The  man  advanced  smiling,  bowed 
gracefully,  and  answered  in  a  gentle 
and  melodious  voice,  which  went 
straight  to  the  soul : 

"  Take  your  places  again,  gentlemen, 
I  beg  of  you.  I  should  be  truly  vexed 
if  1  caused  you  any  disturbance.  Per 
mit  rne  only  to  sit  down  for  a  few  mo 
ments  by  your  side." 

They  hastened  to  make  room  for 
him.  Let  us  say  in  a  few  words  who 
this  person  was,  whose  unexpected  ar 
rival  caused  so  much  pleasure  to  the 
people  assembled  in  the  grotto. 

Father  Seraphin  was  a  man  of  twen 
ty-four  at  the  most,  although  the  fa 
tigues  he  supported,  the  harsh  labors 
he  had  imposed  on  himself,  and  which, 
he  fulfilled  with  more  than  apostolic 
abnegation,  had  left  numerous  traces  on 
his  face,  with  its  delicate  features,  its 
gentle  and  firm  expression,  imprinted 
with  a  sublime  melancholy,  rendered 
ven  more  touching  by  the  beam  of  in 
effable  goodness  which  escaped  from 
bis  large,  blue  and  thoughtful  eyes. 
His  whole  person,  however,  exhaled  a 
perfume  of  youth  and  health  which  dis 
guised  his  age,  as  to  which  a  superficial 
observer  might  have  been  easily  de- 
eived. 

Father  Seraphin  was  a  Frenchman, 
and  belonged  to  the  order  of  the  Lazar- 
sts.  For  five  years  he  had  been  tra- 
'ersing  as  an  indefatigable  missionary, 
vith  no  other  weapon  than  his  staff, 
he  unexplored  solitudes  of  Texas  and 
Vew  Mexico,  preaching  the  gospel  to 
he  Indians,  while  caring  nothing  for 
he  terrible  privations  and  nameless 
ufferings  he  incessantly  endured,  and 
he  death  constantly  suspended  over 
is  head. 

Father  Seraphin  was  one  of  those  nu- 
nerous  soldiers,  ignored  martyrs  of 
he  army  of  faith,  who,  making  a  shield 
f  the  Gospel,  spread  at  the  peril  of 
heir  lives  the  word  of  God  in  those 
arbarous  countries,  and  die  heroically, 
tiling  bravely  on  their  battle-field, 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


75 


worn  out  by  the  painful  exigencies  of 
their  sublime  mission,  aged  at  thirty, 
but  having  gained  over  a  few  souls  to 
the  truth,  and  shed  light  among  the  ig 
norant  masses. 

The  abnegation  and  devotion  of 
these  modest  men,  yet  so  great  in  heart, 
are  too  much  despised  in  France,  where 
however,  the  greater  number  of  these 
martyrs  are  recruited.  Their  sacrifices 
pass  unnoticed  ;  for,  owing  to  the  false 
knowledge  possessed  of  beyond-sea 
countries,  people  are  far  from  suspect 
ing  the  continual  struggles  they  have 
to  sustain  against  a  deadly  climate. 
And  who  would  credit  it?  The  most 
obstinate  adversaries  they  meet  with 
in  the  accomplishment  of  their  mission 
are  not  among  the  Indian*,  who  always 
nearly  welcome  them  with  respect,  if 
n°t  j°y>  but  among  the  men  whom 
their  labors  benefit,  and  who  ought  to 
aid  and  protect  them  with  all  their 
might.  There  is  no  vexation  or  humi 
liation  which  they  do  not  endure  from 
the  agents  of  Mexico  and  the  American 
Union,  to  try  and  disgust  and  compel 
them  to  abandon  the  arena  in  which 
they  combat  so  nobly. 

Father  Seraphin  had  gained  the 
friendship  and  respect  of  all  those  with 
whom  accident  had  brought  him  into 
contact.  Charmed  with  meeting  a  fel 
low  countryman  in  the  midst  of  those 
vast  solitudes  so  distant  from  that 
France  he  never  hoped  to  see  again, 
he  had  attached  himself  closely  to  Val 
entine,  to  whom  he  vowed  a  deep  and 
sincere  affection.  For  the  same  mo 
tives,  the  hunter,  who  admired  the 
greatness  of  character  of  this  priest  so 
full  of  true  religion,  felt  himself  drawn 
to  him  by  an  irresistible  liking.  They 
had  frequently  taken  long  journeys  to 
gether,  the  hunter  guiding  his  friend  to 
the  Indian  tribes  across  the  desolate 
regions  of  Apacheria.  , 

So  soon  as  Father  Seraphin  had  taken 
his  place  near  the  fire,  Eagle-wing  and 
Curumilla  hastened  to  offer  him  all 
those  slight  services  whicn  they  fancied 
might  be  agreeable  to  him,  and  offered 
him  a  few  lumps  of  roast  venison  with 
maize  tortillas.  The  missionary  gladly 
gratified  the  two  chiefs,  and  accepted 
their  offerings. 


"  It  is  a  long  time  since  we  saw  you, 
father,"  the  ha-jiendero  said.  "  You  ne 
glect  us.  My  daughter  asked  me  about 
you  only  two  days  ago,  for  she  is  anx 
ious  to  see  you." 

"  Dona  Clara  is  an  angel  who  does 
not  require  me,"  the  missionary  replied 
gently.  "  I  have  spent  nearly  two 
months  with  the  Comanche  tribe  of  the 
Tortoise.  Those  poor  Indians  claim  all 
my  care.  They  are  thirsting  for  the 

ivine  Word." 

"Are  you  satisfied  with  your journey?" 

"  Sufficiently  so,  for  these  men  are 
not  such  as  they  are  represented  to  us. 
Their  instincts  are  noble,  and,  as  their 
primitive  nature  is  not  adulterated  by 
contact  with  the  vicious  civilization  that 
surrounds  them,  they  easily  understood 
what  is  explained  to  them." 

"  Do  you  reckon  on  staying  long 
among  us  ?'' 

"  Yes  ;  this  last  journey  has  fatigued 
me  extremely.  My  health  is  in  a  de 
plorable  state,  and  1  absolutely  need  a 
few  days'  rest  in  order  to  regain  the 
requisite  strength  to  continue  my  min 
istry." 

"  Well,  father,  come  with  me  to  the 
hacienda;  yon  will  remain  with  us,  and 
make  us  all  truly  happy." 

"  1  am  going  to  make  that  request  to 
you,  Don  Miguel.  I  am  delighted  that 
you  have  thus  met  my  wishes.  If  I  ac 
cept  your  obliging  offer,  it  is  because  I 
know  I  shall  not  incommode  you." 

"  On  the  contrary,  we  shall  be  de 
lighted  to  have  you  among  us." 

"  Ah  !  I  know  the  goodness  of  your 
heart." 

"  Do  not  make  me  better  than  I  am, 
father  :  there  is  a  spiae  of  egotism  in 
what  I  am  doing." 

"  How  so  ?" 

"  Hang  it !  by  laboring  at  the  educa 
tion  of  the  Indians  you  render  an  im 
mense  service  to  the  race  1  have  the. 
honor  of  belonging  to;  for  I,  too,  am 
an  Indian." 

"  That  is  true,"  the  priest  answered 
with  a  laugh.  "  Come,  I  absolve  you 
from  the  sin  of  egotism,  in  favor  of  the 
intention  which  makes  you  commit  it." 

"  Father,"  Valentine  then  said,  "  is 
the  game  plentiful  in  the  desert  jiwt  at 
present  ?" 


T6 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


"  Yes,  there  is  a  great  deal :  the  buf 
faloes  have  come  down  from  the  moun 
tains  in  herds — the  elks,  the  deer,  and 
the  antelopes  swarm." 

Valentine  rubbed  his  hands. 

"  It  will  be  a  good  season,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  for  you.  As  for  myself,  I  have 
no  cause  of  complaint,  for  the  Indians 
have  been  most  attentive  to  me." 

"  All  the  better,  I  ever  tremble 
when  I  know  you  are  among  those  red 
devils.  I  do  not  say  that  of  the  Corn- 
anches,  who  are  warriors  I  esteem,  and 
have  always  displayed  the  sincerest 
affection  for  you  ;  but  I  have  a  terrible 
fear  lest  those  villains  of  Apaches  may 
play  you  a  wicked  trick  some  fine 
day." ' 

"  Why  entertain  such  ideas,  my 
friend  ?" 

"They  are  correct.  You  cannot  im 
agine  what  treacherous  and  cruel  cow 
ards  those  Apache  thieves  are.  I  know 
them,  and  carry  their  marks;  but  do 
not  frighten  yourself.  If  ever  they 
ventured  on  any  extremities  against 
you,  I  know  the  road  to  their  villages  : 
there  is  not  a  nook  in  the  desert  which 
I  have  not  thoroughly  explored.  It  is 
not  for  nothing  I  have  received  the 
name  of  the  '  Trail-hunter.'  I  swear  to 
you  I  will  not  leave  them  a  scalp." 

"  Valentine,  you  know  I  do  not  like 
to  hear  you  speak  so.  The  Indians  are 
poor  ignorant  men,  who  know  not  what 
they  do,  and  must  be  pardoned  for  the 
evil  they  commit." 

"  All  right —  all  right !"  the  hunter 
growled.  "  You  have  your  ideas  on 
that  score,  and.  I  mine." 

"  Yes,"  the  missionary  replied  with  a 
smile,  "  but  I  believe  mine  be  better." 

"  It  is  possible.  You  know  1  do  not 
discuss  that  subject  with  you  ;  for  I  do 
not  know  how  you  do  it,  but  you  always 
succeed  in  proving  to  me  that  I  am 
wrong." 

Everybody  laughed  at  this  sally. 

"  And  what  are  the  Indians  doing  at 
this  moment?"  Valentine  continued. 
"  Are  they  still  fighting  ?" 

"  No  •,  I  succeeded  in  bringing  Uni 
corn,  the  principal  chief  of  the  Com- 
anches,  and  Stanapat  (the  Handful  of 
Blood),  the  Apache  sachem,  to  an  in 
terview,  at  which  peace  was  sworn." 


"  Hum  !"  Valentine  said  incredulous- 
y,  "  that  peace  will  not  last  long,  for 
LJnicorn  h;is  too  many  reasons  to  owe 
he  Apaches  a  grudge." 

"  Nothing  leads  to  the  supposition,  at 
jresent,  that  your  forebodings  will  be 
speedily  realised." 

"Why  so?" 

"  Because,  when  I  left  Unicorn,  he 
was  preparing  for  a  grand  buffalo  hunt, 
n  which  five  hundred  picked  warriors 
were  to  take  part." 

"  Ah,  ah  !  and  where  do  you  think 
the  hunt  will  take  place,  father  ?" 

"  1  know  for  a  certainty,  because, 
when  I  left  Unicorn,  he  begged  me  to 
nvite  you  to  it,  as  he  knew  I  should 
iee  you  shortly." 

"I  willingly  accept,  for  a  buffalo  hunt 
always  had  great  attractions  for  me.'' 

"  You  will  not  have  far  to  go  to  find 
Unicorn,  for  he  is  scarce  ten  leagues 
from  this  place." 

"  The  hunt  will  take  place,  then,  in 
the  neighborhood  ?" 

"  The  meeting-place  is  Yellowstone 
Plain." 

"  I  shall  not  fail  to  be  there,  father. 
Ah  !  I  am  delighted,  more  than  you  can 
suppose,  at  the  happy  news  you  have 
brought  rne." 

"  All  the  better,  my  friend.  Now, 
gentlemen,  1  will  ask  you  to  excuse  me  ; 
for  1  feel  so  broken  with  fatigue  that, 
with  your  permission,  I  will  go  and  take 
a  few  hours'  rest." 

"  I  was  a  fool  not  to  think  of  it  be 
fore,"  Valentine  exclaimed  with  vexa 
tion  as  he  struck  his  foreherd.  "  Par 
don  me,  father." 

"  I  thought  for  my  brother,"  said 
Curumilla.  '•'  If  my  father  will  follow 
me  all  is  ready." 

The  missionary  thanked  him  with  a 
smile  and  rose,  bowed  to  all  present, 
and  supported  by  Eagle-wing,  he 
followed  Curumilla  into  another  cham 
ber  of  the  grotto.  Father  Seraphin 
found  a  bed  of  dry  leaves  covered  with 
bear  skins,  and  a  fire  so  arranged  as  to 
burn  all  night.  The  two  Indians  retir 
ed  after  bowing  respectfully  to  the 
father,  and  assuring  themselves  that  he 
needed  nothing  more. 

After  kneeling  on  the  ground  of  the 
grotto  Father  Seraphin  laid  himself  on 


THE   TRAIL-HUNTER. 


77 


his  bed  of  leaves,  crossed  his  arms  on 
his  chest,  and  ft-11  into  that  child-like 
sleep  which  only  the  just  enjoy.  After 
his  departure  Valentine  bent  over  to 
his  two  friends. 

"All  is  saved,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  How  ?  Explain  yourself,"  they 
eagerly  answered. 

"  Listen  to  me.  You  will  spend  the 
night  here;  at  daybreak  you  will  start 
for  the  Hacienda  de  la  Noria,  accompa 
nied  by  Father  Seraphin." 

"Good!     What  next?" 

"  General  Ibanez  will  proceed,  as 
from  you,  to  the  governor,  and  invite 
him  to  a  grand  hunt  of  wild  horses,  to 
take  place  in  three  days." 

"  I  do  not  understand  what  you  are 
driving  at." 

"  That  is  not  necessary  at  this  mo 
ment.  Let  me  guide  you;  but,  above 
all,  arrange  it  so  that  all  the  authorities 
of  the  town  accept  your  invitation  and 
are  present  at  the  hunt." 

"  That  I  take  on  myself." 

"  Very  good.  You,  general,  will 
collect  all  the  men  you  can,  so  that 
they  can  support  you  on  a  given  signal, 
but  hide  themselves  so  that  no  one  can 
suspect  their  presence." 

"  Very  good,"  Don  Miguel  answered; 
"  all  shall  be  done  as  you  recommend. 
Bi.'t  where  will  you  be  all  this  while?'' 

"  You  know  very  well,"  he  answered 
with  a  smile  of  undefinable  meaning. 

"  1  shall  be  hunting  the  buffalo  with 
my  friend  Unicorn,  the  great  Chief  of 
the  Comanches." 

Hastily  breaking  off  the  interview, 
the  hunter  wrapped  himself  in  his  buf 
falo  robe,  stretched  himself  before  the 
fire,  closed  his  eyes,  and  slept,  or  feign 
ed  to  sleep.  After  a  few  minutes'  hesi 
tation  his  friend  imitated  his  example, 
and  the  grotto  became  calm  and  silent 
as  on  the  day  of  the  creation. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

UNICORN. 

BEFORE  retiring  to  rest  Father  Sera 
phin,  on  the  previous  evening1,  had 
whispered  a  couple  of  words  in  the  In 
dians'  ears.  The  sun  had  scarce  begun 
to  rise  a  little  above  the  ex:reme  blue 
line  of  the  horizon  ere  the  missionary 
opened  his  eyes,  and  after  a  short 
prayer  hurried  to  the  hall  in  which  his 
companions  had  remained.  The  four 
men  were  still  asleep,  wrapped  in  their 
furs  and  buffalo  skins. 

"  Wake  up,  brothers,"  Father  Sera 
phin  said,  "  for  day  is  appearing." 

The  four  men  started  up  in  an  in 
stant. 

"  My  brothers,"  the  young  mission 
ary  said  in  a  gentle  and  penetrating; 
voice,  "  I  thought  that  we  ought,  before 
separating,  to  thank  God  in  common 
for  the  blessings  He  does  not  cease  to 
vouchsafe  to  us — to  celebrate  our  hap 
py  meeting  of  last  night.  I  have, 
therefore,  resolved  to  hold  a  mass,  at 
which  I  shall  be  happy  to  see  you,  with 
that  purity  of  heart  which  such  a  duty 
demands." 

At  this  proposition  the  four  men  ex 
claimed  gladly  their  assent. 

"  I  will  help  you  to  prepare  the  altar, 
father,"  Valentine  said  ;  "  the  idea  is- 
excellent." 

"  The  altar  is  all  ready,  my  friends. 
Have  the  kindness  to  follow  me." 

Father  Seraphin  then  led  them  out  of 
the  grotto. 

In  the  centre  of  a  small  explanade  in 
front  of  the  cave  an  altar  had  been- 
built  by  Eagle- wing  and  Curumilla  oa 
a  grassy  mound.  It  was  very  simple. 
A  copper  crucifix  planted  in  the  centre 
of  the  mound,  covered  by  a  cloth  of 
dazzling  whiteness;  on  either  side  of  it 
two  block-tin  candlesticks,  in  which 
burned  candles  of  yellow  tallow,  :"t 
Bible  on  the  right,  the  pyx  in  the  cen 
tre — that  was  all. 

The  hunter  and  the  two  Mexicans 
knelt  piously,  and  Father  Seraphin 
commenced  offering  the  holy  sacrifice, 
served  devotedly  by  the  two  Indian 
chiefs. 

It  was  a  magnificent  morning ;  thou- 


78 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


sands  of  birds,  hidden  beneath  the 
•foliage,  saluted  the  birth  of  day  with 
their  harmonious  songs  ;  a  fickle  breeze 
poured  through  the  branches,  and  re 
freshed  the  air  ;  in  the  distance,  far  as 
eye  could  extend,  undulated  the  prairie, 
with  its  oceans  of  tall  grass  incessantly 
agitated  by  the  hurried  foot  falls  of  the 
wild  beasts  returning  to  their  dens ; 
and  on  the  naked  side  of  this  hill,  at 
the  entrance  of  this  grotto — one  of  the 
marvels  of  the  New  World — a  priest, 
simple  as  an  apostle,  was  celebrating 
mass  on  a  grass  altar  under  the  eye  of 
Heaven,  served  by  two  poor  savages, 
and  having  as  sole  congregation  three 
half-civilized  men. 

This  spectacle,  so  simple  primitive, 
had  something  about  it  imposing  and 
sublime,  which  inspired  respect  and 
summoned  up  dreams  of  ancient  days, 
when  the  persecuted  church  took  refuge 
in  the  desert,  to  find  itself  face  to  face 
with  God.  Hence  the  emotion  expe 
rienced  by  the  witnesses  of  this  relig 
ious  act  was  sincere.  A  beam  of  hap 
piness  descended  into  their  souls,  and  it 
was  with  real  effusion  that  they  thanked 
the  priest  for  the  pleasant  surprise  he 
had  reserved  for  them.  Father  Sera- 
phin  was  delighted  at  the  7-esult  he  had 
attained.  Seeing  the  truly  profound 
faith  of  his  friends,  he  felt  his  courage 
heightened  to  continue  the  rude  and  no 
ble  task  he  had  imposed  on  himself. 

The  mass  lasted  about  three  quarters 
of  an  hour.  When  it  was  finished  the 
missionary  placed  the  poor  holy  vessels 
in  the  bag  he  constantly  carried  with 
him,  and  they  returned  to  the  grotto 
for  breakfast.  An  hour  later,  Don  Mi 
guel,  General  Ibanez,  and  the  mission 
ary  Look  leave  of  Valentine,  and  mount 
ed  on  their  horses,  which  Curumilla  had 
led  ,to  the  entrance  of  the  ravine.  They 
started  at  a  gallop  in  the  direction  of 
the  Paso  del  Norte,  whence  they  were 
about  twenty  leagues  distant.  Valen 
tine  and  the  two  Indian  chiefs  remained 
behind. 

"  1  am  about  to  leave  my  brother," 
Eagle-wing  said. 

"  Why  not  remain  with  us,  chief]" 

"  My  pale  brother  no  longer  requires 
Eagle-wing.  The  chief  hears  the  cries 
of  the  men  and  women  of  his  tribe  who 


were  cowardly  assassinated,  and  demand 
vengeance." 

"  Where  goes  my  brother  1"  the 
hunter  asked,  who  was  too  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  the  character  of  the  In 
dians  to  try  and  change  the  warrior's 
determination,  though  he  was  vexed  at 
his  departure. 

"  The  Coras  dwell  in  villages  on  the 
banks  of  the  Colorado.  Eagle-wing  is 
returning  to  his  friends.  He  will  ask 
for  warriors  to  avenge  his  brothers  who 
are  dead." 

Valentine  bowed. 

"  May  the  Great  Spirit  protect  my 
father  !"  he  said.  "  The  road  is  long  to 
the  villages  of  his  tribe.  The  chief  is 
leaving  friends  who  love  him." 

"  Eagle-wing  knows  it :  he  will  re 
member,"  the  chief  said  with  a  deep  in 
tonation. 

And,  after  pressing  the  hands  the  two 
hunters  held  out  to  him,  he  bounded  on 
his  horse,  and  soon  disappeared  in  the 
windings  of  the  canon. 

Valentine  watched  his  departure  with 
a  sad  and  melancholy  look. 

"  Shall  I  ever  see  him  again  ?"  he 
murmured.  "  He  is  an  Indian  :  he  is 
following  his  vengeance.  It  is  his 
nature  :  he  obeys  it,  and  God  will  judge 
him.  Every  man  must  obey  his  des 
tiny." 

After  this  aside  the  hunter  threw  his 
rifle  on  his  shoulder  and  started  in  his 
turn,  followed  by  Curumilla.  Valen 
tine  and  his  comrade  were  on  foot :  they 
preferred  that  mode  of  travelling,  which 
seemed  to  them  sure,  and  quite  as  quick 
as  on  horseback.  The  two  men,  after 
the  Indian  custom,  walked  one  behind 
the  other,  not  uttering  a  syllable  ;  but 
toward  mid-day  the  heat  became  so  in 
supportable  that  they  were  obliged  to 
stop  to  take  a  few  moments'  repose. 
At  length  the  sunbeams  lost  their 
strength,  the  evening  breeze  rose,  and 
the  hunters  could  resume  their  journey. 
They  soon  reached  the  banks  ot  the  Rio 
Fuerco  (Dirty  River),  which  they  be 
gan  ascending,  keeping  as  close  as  they 
could  to  the  banks,  while  following  the 
tracks  made  since  time  in. memorial  by 
wild  animals  coming  down  to  drink. 

The  man  unacquainted  with  the  splen 
did  American  scenery  will  have  a  difti 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


79 


culty  in  imagining  the  imposing  and 
savage  majesty  of  the  prairie  the  hun 
ters  were  traversing.  The  river,  stud 
ded  with  islets  covered  with  cotton- 
wood  trees,  flowed  silent  and  rapid 
between  banks  of  slight  elevation,  and 
overgrown  with  grass  so  tall  that  it 
obeyed  the  impulse  of  the  wind  from  a 
long  distance.  Over  the  vast  plain 
were  scattered  innumerable  hills,  whose 
summits,  nearly  all  of  the  same  height, 
present  a  flat  surface;  and  for  a  greater 
dista,  ce  northward  the  ground  was 
broadcast  with  large  lumps  of  pebbles 
resembling  grave-stones. 

At  a  few  hundred  yards  from  the  river 
rose  a  conical  mound,  bearing  on  its 
summit  a  granite  obelisk  one  hundred 
and  twenty  feet  in  height.  The  Indians, 
who,  like  all  primitive  nations,  are 
caught  by  anything  strange,  frequently 
assembled  at  this  spot;  and  here  the 
hecatombs  are  offered  to  the  Kitchi 
Manitou. 

A  great  number  of  buffalo  skulls, 
piled  up  at  the  foot  of  the  column,  and 
arranged  in  circles,  ellipses,  and  other 
geometrical  figures,  attest  their  piety 
for  this  god  of  the  hunt,  whose  protect 
ing  spirit,  they  say,  looks  down  from 
the  top  of  the  monolith.  Here  and 
there  grew  patches  of  the  Indian  potato, 
wild  onion,  prairie  tomato,  and  those 
millions  of  strange  flowers  and  trees 
composing  the  American  flora.  The 
rest  of  the  country  was  covered  with 
tall  grass,  continually  undulating  be 
neath  the  light  footfall  of  the  graceful 
antelopes  or  big  horns,  which  bounded 
from  one  rock  to  the  other,  startled  by 
the  approach  of  the  travellers. 

Far,  far  away  on  the  horizon,  ming 
ling  with  the  azure  of  the  sky,  appeared 
the  denuded  peaks  of  the  lofty  moun- 
tiins  that  serve  as  unassailable  fortres 
ses  to  the  Indians :  their  summits,  co 
vered  with  eternal  snow,  formed  the 
frame  of  this  immense  and  imposing 
picture,  which  was  stamped  with  a 
gloomy  and  mysterious  grandeur. 

At  the  hour  when  the  maukawis  ut 
tered  its  last  S"ng  to  salute  the  setting 
of  the  sun,  which,  half  plunged  in  the 
purple  of  evening,  still  jaspered  the  sky 
with  long  red  bands,  the  travellers  per 
ceived  the  tents  of  the  Comanches  pic 


turesquely  grouped  on  the  sides  of  a 
verdurous -hill.  The  Indians  had,  in  a 
few  hours,  improvised  a  real  village 
with  their  buffalo-skin  tents,  aligned  to 
form  streets  and  squares. 

On  arriving  at  about  five  hundred 
yards  from  the  village  the  hunters  sud 
denly  perceived  an  Indian  horseman. 
Evincing  not  the  slightest  surprise,  they 
stopped  and  unfolded  their  buffalo 
robes,  which  floated  in  the  breeze,  as  a 
signal  of  peace.  The  horseman  uttered 
a  loud  cry.  At  this  signal — for  it  was 
evidently  one — a  troop  of  Comanche 
warriors  debouched  at  a  gallop  from  the 
village,  and  poured  like  a  torrent  down 
the  sides  of  the  hill,  coming  up  close  to 
the  motionless  travellers,  brandishing 
their  weapons,  and  uttering  their  war- 
yell. 

The  hunters  waited,  carelessly  lean 
ing  on  their  guns.  Assuredly,  to  a  man 
not  acquainted  with  the  singular  man 
ners  of  the  prairie,  this  mode  of  recep 
tion  would  have  seemed  overt  hostili 
ties.  But  it  was  not  so  ;  for,  on  coming 
within  range  of  the  hunters,  the  Coman 
ches  began  making  their  horses  leap  and 
curvet  with  that  grace  and  skill  char 
acteristic  of  the  Indians,  and  deploying 
to  the  right  and  left,  they  formed  a  vast 
circle,  inclosing  the  two  unmoved  hun 
ters. 

Then  a  horseman  quitted  the  group, 
dismounted,  and  rapidly  approached  the 
new  comers :  the  latter  hastened  to 
meet  him.  All  three  had  their  arm  ex 
tended  with  the  palm  forward  in  sign  of 
peace.  The  Indian  who  thus  advanced 
to  meet  the  hunters  was  Unicorn,  the 
great  chief  of  the  Comanches. 

As  a  distinctive  sign  of  his  race, 
his  skin  was  of  a  red  tinge,  brighter 
than  the  palest  new  copper.  He  was  a 
man  of  thirty  at  the  most,  with  mascu 
line  and  expressive  features ;  his  face 
possessed  a  remarkable  intelligence,  and 
was  stamped  with  that  natural  majesty 
found  among  the  savage  children  of  the 
prairie;  he  was  tall  and  well  built;  and 
his  muscular  limbs  evidenced  a  vigor 
and  suppleness  against  which  few  men 
would  have  contended  with  advantage. 

He  was  completely  painted  and  arm 
ed  for  war  ;  his  black  hair  was  drawn 
up  on  his  head  in  the  form  of  a  casque, 


80 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


and  fell  down  his  back  like  a  mane  ;  a 
profusion  of  wampum  collars,  claws  of 
grizzly  bear,  and  buffalo  teeth  adorned 
his  breast,  on  which  was  painted  with 
rare  dexterity  a  blue  tortoise,  the  dis 
tinctive  sign  of  the  tribe  to  which  he 
belonged,  and  of  the  size  of  a  hand. 

The  rest  of  his  costume  was  compos 
ed  of  the  mitasses,  fastened  round  the 
hips  by  a  leathern  belt,  and  descending 
to  the  ankles;  a  deer-skin  shirt,  with 
long  hanging  sleeves,  the  seams  of 
which,  like  those  of  the  mitasse,  were 
fringed  with  leather  strips  and  feathers; 
a  wide  cloak,  of  the  hide  of  a  female 
buffalo,  was  fastened  across  his  shoul 
ders  with  a  buckle  of  pure  gold,  and 
fell  down  to  the  ground  ;  on  his  feet  he 
had  elegant  moccasins  of  different  co 
lors,  embroidered  with  beads  and  por 
cupine  quills,  from  the  heels  of  which 
trailed  several  wolf  tails  ;  a  light  round 
shield,  covered  with  buffalo  hide,  and 
decorated  with  human  scalps,  hung  on 
his  left  side  by  his  panther-skin  quiver 
full  of  arrows.  His  weapons  were 
those  of  the  Comanche  Indians ;  that 
is  to  say,  the  scalping-knife,  the  toma 
hawk,  a  bow,  and  an  American  rifle ; 
but  a  long  whip,  the  handle  of  which 
painted  red,  was  adorned  with  scalps, 
indicated  his  rank  as  chief. 

When  the  three  men  were  close  to 
gether  they  saluted  by  raising  their 
hands  to  their  foreheads  ;  then  Valen 
tine  and  Unicorn  crossed  their  arms  by 
passing  the  right  hand  over  the  left 
shoulder,  and  bowing  their  heads  at  the 
same  time,  kissed  each  other's  mouth 
after  the  prairie  fashion.  Unicorn  then 
saluted  Curumilla  in  the  same  way  ; 
and  this  preliminary  ceremony  termi 
nated,  the  Comanche  chief  took  the 
word. 

"  My  brothers  are  welcome  at  the 
village  of  my  tribe,"  he  said.  "  I  was 
expecting  them  impatiently.  I  had 
begged  the  Chief  of  Prayer 'of  the 
pale-faces  to  invite  them  in  my  name." 

"  He  performed  his  promise  last 
night.  1  thank  my  brother  for  having 
thought  of  me." 

"  The  two  stranger  great  hunters  are 
friends  of  Unicorn.  His  heart  was  sad 
not  to  see  them  near  him  fur  the  buffa 


lo  hunt  his  young  people  are  prepnr- 
i«g.'- 

"  Here  we  are  !  We  set  out  this 
morning  at  sunrise." 

"  My  brothers  will  follow  me,  and 
rest  at  the  council  fire." 

The  hunters  bowed  assent.  Each 
received  a  horse,  and  at  a  signal  from 
Unicorn,  who  had  placed  himself  be 
tween  them,  the  troop  started  at  a  gal 
lop,  and  returned  to  the  village,  which 
it  entered  to  the  deafening  sound  of 
drums,  chikikoues,  shouts  of  joy  from 
the  women  and  children  who  saluted 
their  return,  and  the  furious  barking  of 
the  dogs.  When  the  chiefs  were  seat 
ed  round  the  council  fire  the  pipe  was 
lit,  and  ceremoniously  presented  to  ti.e 
two  strangers,  who  smoked  in  silence 
for  some  minutes.  When  the  pipe  had 
gone  the  round  several  times  Unicorn 
addressed  Valentine. 

"  Koutonepi  is  a  great  hunter,"  he 
said  to  him  ;  "  he  has  often  followed  the 
buffalo  on  the  plains  of  the  Dirty  Riv 
er.  The  chief  will  tell  him  the  prepa 
rations  he  has  made,  that  the  hunter 
may  give  his  opinion." 

"  It  is  needless,  chiefs,"  Valentine  re 
plied.  "  The  buffalo  is  the  friend  of 
the  redskins  :  the  Comanches  know  all 
its  stratagems.  1  should  like  to  ask  a 
question  of  my  brother." 

il  The  hunter  can  speak ;  my  ears  are 
open." 

"  How  long  will  the  chief  remain  on 
the  hunting  grounds  with  his  young 
men  ?" 

"  About  a  week.  The  buffaloes  are 
suspicious :  my  young  men  are  sur 
rounding  them,  but  they  drive  them  in 
our  direction  before  four  or  five  days." 

Valentine  gave  a  start  of  joy. 

"  Good,"  he  said.  "  Is  my  brother 
sure  of  it?" 

"  Very  sure." 

"How  many  warriors  have  remained 
with  the  chief?" 

"  About  four  hundred :  the  rest  are 
scattered  over  the  plain  to  announce  the 
approach  of  the  buffaloes." 

•'  Good  !  If  my  brother  likes  I  will 
procure  him  a  fine  hunt  within  three 
days." 

"  Ah !"  the  chief  exclaimed,   "  then 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


81 


my  brother   has   started  some  game  ?" 

"Oh!"  Valentine  answered  with  a 
laugh,  "  let  my  brother  trust  to  me,  and 
I  promise  him  rich  spoils." 

"  Good  !  Of  what  game  does  my 
brother  speak  ?" 

"  Of  gachupinos.  In  two  days  they 
will  meet  in  large  numbers  not  far  from 
here." 

"  Wah  !"  said  the  Comanche,  whose 
eyes  sparkled  at  this  news,  "  my  young 
men  will  hunt  them.  My  brother  must 
explain." 

Valentine  shook  his  head. 

"  My  words  are  for  the  ears  of  a 
chief,"  he  said. 

Without  replying,  Unicorn  made  a 
signal  :  the  Indians  rose  silently,  and 
left  the  tent. 

Curumillaand  Unicorn  alone  remain 
ed  near  the  fire. 

Valentine  then  explained  to  the  Co 
manche,  in  its  fullest  details,  the  plan 
he  had  conceived,  in  the  execution  of 
which  the  aid  of  the  Indians  was  indis 
pensable  for  him.  Unicorn  listened  at 
tentively  without  interrupting.  When 
Valentine  had  ended  : 

"  What  does  my  brother  think  ?"  the 
latter  asked,  fixing  a  scrutinizing  glance 
on  the  impassive  countenance  of  the 
chief. 

"  Wah !"  the  other  replied,  "  the 
pale-face  is  very  crafty.  Unicorn  will 
do  what  he  desires." 

This  assurance  filled  Valentine's  heart 
with  joy. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE    HUNT    OF   WILD    HORSES. 

DON  MIGUEL  ZARATE  and  his  two 
friends  did  not  reach  the  hacienda  till 
late.  They  were  received  in  the  porch 
by  Don  Pablo  and  Dona  Clara,  who 
manifested  great  joy  at  the  sight  of  the 
French  missionary,  for  whom  they  felt  a 
sincere  esteem  and  great  friendship. 
Spite  of  all  his  care,  Fray  Ambrosio 
had  always  seen  his  advances  repelled 
by  the  young  people,  in  whom  he  in 
stinctively  inspired  that  fear  mingled 
with  disgust  that  is  experienced  at  the 
sight  of  a  reptile. 


Dona  Clara,  who  was  very  pious, 
carried  this  repulsion  to  such  a  pitch 
that  she  only  confessed  her  faults  and 
approached  the  holy  table  when  Father 
Seraphin  came  to  spend  a  few  days  at 
the  hacienda. 

Fray  Ambrosio  was  too  adroit  to  ap 
pear  to  notice  the  effect  his  presence 
produced  on  the  haciendero's  children: 
he  feigned  to  attribute  to  timidity  and 
indifference  on  religious  matters  what 
was  in  reality  a  strongly- expressed 
loathing  for  himself  personally.  But  in. 
his  heart  a  dull  hatred  fermented  against 
the  two  young  folk,  and  especially 
against  the  missionary,  whom  he  had 
several  times  already  attempted  to  des 
troy  by  well-laid  snares. 

Father  Seraphin  had  always  escaped 
them  by  a  providential  chance ;  but  in 
spite  of  the  chaplain's  obsequious  ad 
vances,  and  the  offers  of  service  he  did 
not  fail  to  overwhelm  him  with  each 
time  they  met,  the  missionary  had  thor 
oughly  read  the  Mexican  monk.  He 
hud  guessed  what  fearful  corruption  was 
hidden  beneath  his  apparent  simplicity 
and  feigned  piety  :  and  while  keeping 
to  himself  the  certainty  he  had  acquir 
ed,  he  remained  on  his  guard,  and  care 
fully  watched  this  man,  whom  he  sus 
pected  of  incessantly  planning  some 
dark  treachery  against  him.  Don  Mi 
guel  left  his  children  with  the  mission 
ary,  who  immediately  took  possession 
of  him  and  dragged  him  away,  lavish 
ing  on  him  every  possible  attention. 
The  haciendero  retired  to  his  study 
with  General  Ibanez,  when  the  two  men 
drew  up  a  list  of  the  persons  they  in 
tended  to  invite  ;  that  is  to  say,  the 
persons  Valentine  proposed  to  get  out 
of  the  way,  though  they  were  innocent 
of  his  scheme.  The  general  then  mount 
ed  his  horse,  and  rode  off  to  deliver 
the  invitations  personally.  For  his 
part  Don  Miguel  sent  off  a  dozen  peons 
and  vaqueros  in  search  of  the  wild 
horses,  and  to  drive  them  gradually  to 
ward  the  spot  chosen  for  the  hunt. 

Gen.  Ibanez  succeeded  perfectly  :  the 
invitations  were  gladly  accepted,  and 
the  next  evening  the  guests  began  ar 
riving  at  the  hacienda,  Don  Miguel  re 
ceiving  them  with  marks  of  the  most 
profound  respect  and  lavish  hospitality. 


82 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


The  governor,  General  Isturitz,  Don 
Luciano  Perez,  and  seven  or  eight  per 
sons  of  inferior  rank  were  soon  assem 
bled  at  the  hacienda.  At  sunrise  a 
numerous  party,  composed  of  forty 
persons,  left  the  hacienda,  and  proceed 
ed,  accompanied  by  a  crowd  of  well- 
mounted  peons,  towards  the  meet. 
This  was  a  vast  plain  on  the  banks  of 
the  Rio  del  Norte,  where  the  wild 
horses  were  accustomed  to  graze  at  this 
season.  The  caravan  produced  the 
most  singular  and  picturesque  effect 
with  the  brilliant  costumes  of  the  per 
sons  who  composed  it,  and  their  horses 
glittering  with  gold  and  silver.  Start 
ing  at  about  four  a.  m.  from  the  hacien 
da,  they  reached  four  hours  later  a  clump 
of  trees,  beneath  whose  shade  tents  had 
been  raised  and  tables  laid  by  Don  Mi 
guel's  orders,  so  that  they  might  break 
fast  before  the  hunt. 

The  riders,  who  had  been  journeying 
for  four  hours,  already  exposed  to  the 
rays  of  the  sun  and.  the  dust,  uttered  a 
shout  of  joy  at  the  sight  of  the  tents. 
Each  dismounted  :  the  ladies  were  in 
vited  to  do  the  same,  among  them  be 
ing  the  wives  of  the  governor  and  Gen 
eral  Isturitz,  and  Dona  Clara,  and  they 
gaily  sat  down  round  the  tables. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  breakfast  Don 
Pablo  arrived,  who'  had  started  the 
evening  previously  to  join  the  va 
queros.  He  announced  that  the  horses 
had  been  started,  that  a  large  manada 
was  now  crossing  the  Plain  of  the  Coy 
otes,  watched  by  the  vaqueros,  and 
that  they  must  make  haste  if  they  wish 
ed  to  have  good  sport.  This  news  aug 
mented  the  ardor  of  the  hunters.  The 
ladies  were  left  in  camp  under  the 
guard  of  a  dozen  well-armed  peons,  and 
the  whole  party  rushed  at  a  gallop  in 
the  direction  indicated  by  Don  Pablo. 

The  Plain  of  the  Coyotes  extended 
for  an  enormous  distance  along  the 
batiks  of  the  river.  Here  and  there 
rose  wooded  hills,  which  varied  the 
landscape  that  was  rendered  monoto 
nous  by  the  tall  grass,  in  which  the  rid 
ers  disappeared  up  to  their  waists. 
When  the  hunting  party  reached  the 
skirt  of  the  plain  Don  Miguel  ordered  a 
halt,  that  they  might  hold  a  council,  and 


hear  the  report  of  the  leader  of  the  va 
queros. 

The  races  of  wild  horses  that  now-a- 
days  people  the  deserts  of  North  Ame 
rica,  and  especially  of  Mexico,  is  de 
scended  from  Cortez'  cavalry.  Henca 
it  is  a  pure  breed,  for  at  the  period  of 
the  Spanish  conquest  only  Arab  horses 
were  employed.  These  horses  have 
multiplied  in  really  an  extraordinary 
manner.  It  is  not  rare  to  meet  with 
rnanadas  of  twenty  and  even  thirty 
thousand  head.  They  are  small,  but 
gifted  with  an  energy  and  vigor  of 
which  it  is  impossible  to  form  a  fail 
idea  without  having  seen  them.  The} 
accomplish  without  fatigue  journeys  of 
prodigious  length.  Their  coat  is  the 
same  as  that  of  other  horses,  save  that 
during  winter  it  grows  very  long,  and 
frizzy  like  the  wool  of  sheep.  In  spring 
this  species  of  fur  falls  off.  The  Ame 
rican  horses  may  be  easily  trained, 
Generally,  so  soon  as  they  find  them 
selves  caught  they  easily  submit  to  the 
saddle. 

The  Mexicans  treat  their  steeds  very 
harshly,  make  them  journey  the  whole 
day  without  food  or  drink,  and  only 
give  them  their  ration  of  maize  and 
water  on  reaching  the  bivouac,  where 
they  let  them  wander  about  the  whole 
night  under  guard  of  the  nena,  a  mare 
whose  bell  the  horses  fullow,  and  will 
never  leave.  It  is  not  from  any  cruel 
motive,  however,  that  the  Mexicans 
treat  their  horses  thus,  for  the  riders 
are  very  fond  of  their  animals,  which  at 
a  given  moment  may  save  their  lives. 
But  it  seems  that  this  mode  of  treat 
ment,  which  would  be  impracticable  in 
Europe,  is  perfectly  successful  in  Mexi 
co,  where  the  horses  are  much  better 
off  than  if  treated  in  a  more  gentle  way. 

The  leader  of  the  vaqueros  made  his 
report.  A  manada  of  about  ten  thou 
sand  head  was  two  leagues  off  on  the 
plain,  quietly  grazing  in  the  company 
of  a  few  elks  and  buffaloes.  The  hunters 
scaled  a  hill,  from  the  top  of  which  they 
easily  saw  on  the  horizon  a  countless 
mob  of  animals,  grouped  in  a  most  pic 
turesque  way,  and  apparently  not  at  all 
suspecting  the  danger  that  threatened 
them. 


THE    TRAIL- HUNTER. 


83 


To  hunt  the  wild  horses  men  must 
be  like  the  Mexicans,  perfect  centaurs. 
I  have  seen  the  ginetes  of  that  country 
accomplish  feats  of  horsemanship  before 
which  our  Europeans  would  turn  pale. 
After  the  vaquero's  report  Don 
Miguel  and  his  friends  held  a  council, 
and  this  is  the  resolution  they  came  to. 
They  formed  what  is  called  in  Mexico 
he  grand  circle  of  the  wild  horses ; 
hat  is  to  say,  the  most  skilful  riders 
were  eclielonned  in  every  direction  at  a 
certain  distance  from  each  other,  so  as 
to  forzn  an  immense  circle.  The  wild 
horses  are  extremely  suspicious  :  their 
instinct  is  so  great,  their  scent  is  so 
subfJe,  that  the  slightest  breath  of  wind 
is  sufficient  to  carry  to  them  the  smell 
of  their  enemies,  and  make  them  set  off 
at  headlong  speed.  Hence  it  is  neces 
sary  to  act  with  the  greatest  prudence, 
aud  use  many  precautions,  if  a  surprise 
is  desired. 

When  all  the  preparations  were  made 
the  hunters  dismounted,  and  dragging 
their  horses  after  them,  glided  through 
the  tall  grass  so  as  to  contract  the  circle. 
This  manoeuvre  had  gone  on  for  some 
time,  and  they  had  sensibly  drawn 
nearer,  when  the  manada  began  to  dis 
play  some  signs  of  restlessness.  The 
horses,  which  had  hitherto  grazed  calm 
ly,  raised  their  heads,  pricked  their  ears, 
and  neighed  as  they  inhaled  the  air. 
Suddenly  they  collected,  formed  a  com 
pact  band,  and  started  at  a  trot  in  the 
direction  of  some  cotton-wood  trees 
which  stood  on  the  banks  of  the  river. 
The  hunt  was  about  to  commence. 

At  a  signal  from  Don  Miguel  six 
well-mounted  vaqueros  rushed  at  full 
speed  ahead  of  the  inanada,  making  their 
lassoes  whistle  round  their  heads.  The 
horses,  startled  by  the  apparition  of  the 
riders,  turned  back  hastily,  uttering 
snorts  of  terror,  and  fled  in  another 
direction.  But  each  time  they  tried  to 
force  the  circle,  horsemen  rode  into  the 
midst  of  them,  and  compelled  them  to 
turn  back. 

It  is  necessary  to  have  been  present 
at  such  a  chase,  to  have  seen  this  hunt 
on  the  prairies,  to  form  an  idea  of  the 
magnificent  sight  offered  by  all  these 
noble  brutes,  their  eyes  afire,  their 
mouths  foaming,  their  heads  haughtily 


thrown  up,  and  their  manes  fluttering 
in  the  wind,  as  they  bounded  and  gal 
loped  in  the  fatal  circle  the  hunters  had 
formed  round  them.  There  is  in  such 
a  sight  something  intoxicating,  which 
carries  away  the  most  phlegmatic,  and 
renders  them  mad  with  enthusiasm  and 
pleasure. 

When  this  manoeuvre  had  lasted  long 
enough,  and  the  horses  began  to  grow 
blinded  with  terror,  at  a  signal  given  by 
Don  Miguel  the  circle  was  broken  at  a 
certain  spot.  The  horses  rushed,  witii 
a  sound  like  thunder,  toward  this  issue 
which  opened  before  them,  overturning 
with  their  chests  everything  that  barred 
their  progress.  But  it  was  this  th« 
hunters  expected.  The  horses,  in  their 
mad  race,  galloped  on  without  dream 
ing  that  the  road  they  followed  grew 
gradually  narrower  in  front  of  them, 
and  terminated  in  inevitable  captivity. 

Let  us  explain  the  termination  of  the 
hunt.  The  manada  had  been  cleverly 
guided  by  the  hunters  toward  the  en 
trance  of  a  canon,  or  ravine,  which  ran 
between  two  rattier  lofty  hills.  At  the 
end  of  this  ravine  the  vaqueros  had 
formed,  with  stakes  fifteen  feet  long, 
planted  in  the  ground,  and  firmly  fas 
tened  together  with  cords  of  twisted 
bark,  an  immense  corral  or  inclosure, 
into  which  the  horses  rushed  without 
seeing  it.  In  less  than  no  time  the 
corral  was  full ;  then  the  hunters  went 
to  meet  the  manada,  which  they  cut  off 
at  the  risk  of  their  lives,  while  the 
others  closed  the  entrance  of  the  corral. 
More  than  fifteen  hundred  magnificent 
wild  horses  were  thus  captured  at  one 
stroke. 

The  noble  animals  rushed  with  snorts 
of  fury  at  the  walls  of  the  inclosure, 
trying  to  tear  up  the  stakes  with  their 
teeth,  and  dashing  madly 'against  them. 
At  length  they  recognised  the  futility 
of  their  efforts,  lay  down,  and  remained 
motionless.  In  the  meanwhile  a  tre 
mendous  struggle  was  going  on  in  the 
ravine  between  the  hunters  and  the  rest 
of  the  manada.  The  horses  confined  in 
this  narrow  space  made  extraordinary 
efforts  to  open  a  passage  and  fly  anew. 
They  neighed,  stamped,  and  flew  at 
everything  that  came  within  their  reach. 
At  length  they  succeeded  in  regaining 


84 


THE    TKAIL-HUNTER. 


their  first  direction,  and  rushed  into  the 
plain  with  the  velocity  of  an  avalanche. 
Several  vaqueros  had  been  dismounted 
and  trampled  on  by  the  horses,  and  two 
of  them  had  received  such  injuries  that 
they  were  carried  off  the  ground  in  a 
state  of  insensibility. 

With  all  the  impetuosity  of  youth 
Don  Pablo  had  rushed  into  the  very 
heart  of  the  manada.  Suddenly  his 
horse  received  a  kick  which  broke  its 
off  tore  leg,  and  it  fell  to  the  ground, 
dragging  its  rider  with  it.  The  hunters 
uttered  a  cry  of  terror  and  agony.  In 
the  midst  of  this  band  of  maddened 
horses  the  young  man  was  lost,  for  he 
must  be  trampled  to  death  under  their 
hoofs.  But  he  rose  with  the  rapidity 
of  lightning,  and  quick  as  thought  seiz 
ing  the  mane  of  the  nearest  horse,  he 
leaped  on  its  back,  and  held  on  by  his 
knees.  The  horses  were  so  pressed 
against  one  another  that  any  other  po 
sition  was  impossible.  Then  a  strange 
thing  occurred — an  extraordinary  strug 
gle  between  the  horse  and  its  rider. 
The  noble  beast,  furious  at  feeling  its 
back  dishonored  by  the  weight  it  bore, 
bounded,  reared,  rushed  forward  ;  but 
all  was  useless,  for  Don  Pablo  adhered 
firmly. 

So  long  as  it  was  in  the  ravine,  the 
horse,  impeded  by  its  comrades,  could 
not  do  all  it  might  have  wished  to  get 
rid  of  the  burden  it  bore  ;  but  so  soon 
as  it  found  itself  on  the  plain  it  threw 
up  its  head,  made  several  leaps  on  one 
side,  and  then  started  forward  at  a 
speed  which  took  away  the  young  man's 
breath. 

Don  Pablo  held  on  firmly  by  dig- 
.  ging  his  knees  into  the  panting  sides  of 
his  steed  ;  he  unfastened  his  cravat, 
and  prepared  to  play  the  last  scene  in 
this  drama,  which  threatened  to  termi 
nate  in  a  tragic  way  for  him.  The 
horse  had  changed  its  tactics  ;  it  was 
racing  in  a  straight  line  to  the  river, 
resolved  to  drown  itself  with  its  rider 
sooner  than  submit.  The  hunters  fol 
lowed  with  an  interest  mingled  with 
terror  the  moving  interludes  of  this 
mad  race,  when  suddenly  the  horse 
changed  its  plans  again,  reared,  and 
tried  to  fall  back  with  its  rider.  The 
hunters  uttered  a  shout  of  agony.  Don 


Pablo  clung  convulsively  to  his  ani 
mal's  neck,  and,  at  the  moment  it  was 
falling  back,  he  threw  his  cravat  over 
its  eyes  with  extraordinary  skill. 

The  horse,  suddenly  blinded,  fell 
back  again  on  its  feet,  and  stood  trem 
bling  with  terror.  Then  the  young 
man  dismounted,  put  his  face  to  the 
horse's  head,  and  breathed  into  its  nos 
trils,  while  gently  scratching  its  fore 
head.  This  operation  lasted  ten  min 
utes  at  the  most,  the  horse  punting  and 
snorting,  but  not  daring  to  leave  the 
spot.  The  Mexican  again  leaped  on 
the  horse's  back,  and  removed  the 
bandage  ;  it  remained  stunned — Don 
Pablo  had  tamed  it.  (This  mode  of 
taming  horses  is  well  known  to  the  In 
dians,  and  we  submit  the  fact  to  our 
readers  without  comment.) 

Everybody  rushed  toward  the  young 
man,  who  smiled  proudly,  in  order  to 
compliment  him  on  his  splendid  victo 

ry- 

Don  Pablo  dismounted,  gave  his  horse 
to  a  vaquero,  who  immediately  passed 
a  bridle  round  its  neck,  and  then  walk 
ed  toward  his  father,  who  embraced 
him  tenderly.  For  more  than  an  hour 
Don  Miguel  had  despaired  of  his  son's 
life. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE    SURPRISE. 

So  soon  as  the  emotion  caused  by 
Don  Pablo's  prowess  was  calmed  they 
began  thinking  about  returning.  The 
sun  was  rapidly  descending  in  the  hori 
zon  :  the  whole  day  had  been  spent 
with  the  exciting  incidents  of  the  chase. 
The  Hacienda  de  la  Noria  was  nearly 
ten  leagues  distant :  it  was,  therefore, 
urgent  to  start  as  speedily  as  possible, 
unless  the  party  wished  to  run  the  risk 
of  bivouacking  in  the  open  air. 

The  men  would  easily  have  put  up 
with  this  slight  annoyance,  which,  in  a 
climate  like  that  of  New  Mexico,  and 
at  this  season  of  the  year,  has  nothing 
painful  about  it ;  but  they  had  ladies 
with  them.  Left  one  or  two  leagues  in 
the  rear,  they  must  feel  alarmed  by  the 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


85 


absence  of  the  hunters  —  an  absence 
which,  as  so  frequently  happens  when 
out  hunting,  had  been  protracted  far  be 
yond  all  expectation. 

Don  Miguel  gave  the  vaqueros  orders 
to  brand  the  captured  horses  with  his 
cipher ;  and  the  whole  party  then  re 
turned,  laughing  and  singing,  in  the 
direction  of  the  tents  where  the  ladies 
had  been  left.  The  vaqueros  who  had 
served  as  beaters  during  the  day  re 
mained  behind  to  guard  the  horses. 

In  these  countries,  where  there  is 
scarce  any  twilight,  night  succeeds  the 
day  almost  without  transition.  As 
soon  as  the  sun  had  set  the  hunters 
found  themselves  in  complete  darkness; 
for,  as  the  sun  descended  on  the  horizon, 
the  shade  invaded  the  sky  in  equal  pro 
portions,  and,  at  the  moment  when  the 
day  planet  disappeared,  the  night  was 
complete.  The  desert,  hitherto  silent, 
seemed  to  wake  up  all  at  once :  the 
birds,  stupefied  by  the  heat,  commenced 
a  formidable  concert,  in  which  joined  at 
intervals,  from  the  inaccessible  depths 
of  the  forest,  the  snapping  of  the  carca 
jous  and  the  barking  of  the  coyotes 
mingled  with  the  hoarse  howling  of  the 
wild  beasts  that  had  left  their  dens  to 
come  down  and  drink  in  the  river. 

Then  gradually  the  cries,  the  songs, 
and  the  howling  ceased,  and  nothing 
was  audible  save  the  hurried  footfalls 
of  the  hunters'  horses  on  the  pebbles  of 
the  road.  A  solemn  silence  seemed  to 
brood  over  this  abrupt  and  primitive 
scenery.  At  intervals  the  green  tufts 
of  the  trees  and  the  tall  grass  bowed 
slowly  with  a  prolonged  rustling  of 
leaves  and  branches,  as  if  a  mysterious 
breath  passed  over  them,  and  compelled 
them  to  bend  their  heads.  There  was 
something  at  once  striking  and  terrible 
in  the  imposing  appearance  offered  by 
the  prairie  at  this  hour  of  the  ni<rht, 
beneath  this  sky  studded  with  brilliant 
stars,  which  sparkled  like  emeralds,  in 
the  presence  of  this  sublime  immensity, 
\s  Inch  only  suffered  one  voice  to  be 
heard — that  of  Deity. 

The  young  and  enthusiastic  man  to 
whom  it  is  given  to  be  present  at  such 
a  spectacle  feels  a  thrill  run  over  all 
his  body  :  he  experiences  an  undefinable 
feeling  of  'happiness  and  extraordinary 


pleasure  on  looking  round  him  at  the 
desert,  whose  unexplored  depths  con 
ceal  from  him  so  many  secrets,  and  dis 
play  to  him  Divine  Majesty  in  all  its 
grandeur  and  omnipotence.  Many  a 
time  during  our  adventurous  journeys 
on  the  American  continent,  when 
marching  at  hazard  during  these  lovely 
nights  so  full  of  charms,  which  nothing 
can  make  those  comprehend  who  have 
not  experienced  them,  we  have  yielded 
to  the  soft  emotions  that  overcame  us. 
Isolating  and  absorbing  ourselves  with 
in  ourselves,  w  •  have  fallen  into  a  state 
of  beatitude,  from  which  nothing  had 
the  power  of  draw  ng  us. 

The  hunters  so  gay  and  talkative  at 
the  start,  had  yielded  to  this  omnipotent 
influence  of  the  desert,  and  advanced 
rapidly  and  silently,  only  exchanging  a, 
few  syllables  at  lengthened  intervals. 
The  profoundest  calm  still  continued  to 
reign  over  the  desert ;  and  while,  owing 
to  the  astonishing  transparency  of  the 
atmosphere,  the  eye  could  embrace  an 
horizon,  nothing  suspicious  was  visible. 

The  fire-flies  buzzed  carelessly  round 
the  top  of  the  grass,  and  the  flickering 
fires  burning  before  the  tents  to  which 
the  hunters  were  bound  could  be  already 
seen  about  half  a  league  ahead.  At  a 
signal  from  Don  Miguel  the  party, 
which  had,  up  to  the  present,  only  trot 
ted,  set  out  at  a  long  canter  ;  for  each 
felt  anxious  to  leave  a  scene  which,  in 
the  darkness,  had  assumed  a  sinister 
aspect. 

They  thus  arrived  within  a  hundred 
yards  of  the  fires,  whose  ruddy  glow 
was  reflected  on  the  distant  trees,  when 
suddenly  a  fearful  yell  crossed  the  air, 
and  from  behind  every  bush  out  started 
an  Indian  horseman  brandishing  his 
weapons,  and  making  his  horse,  curvet 
round  the  white  men,  while  uttering  his 
war-cry.  Tne  Mexicans,  taken  un 
awares,  were  surrounded  ere  they  suffi 
ciently  recovered  from  their  stupor  to 
think  about  employing  their  weapons. 
At  a  glance  Don  Miguel  judged  the 
position :  it  was  a  critical  one.  The 
hunters  were  at  the  most  but  twenty  : 
the  number  of  Comanche  warriors  sur 
rounding  them  was  at  least  three  hun 
dred. 

The  Comanches  and  Apaches  are  the 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


most  implacable  foes  of  the  white  race. 
la  their  periodical  invasions  of  the 
frontiers  they  hardly  ever  make  any 
prisoners  :  they  mercilessly  kill  all 
who  fall  into  their  hands.  Sail  the 
Mexicans  rallied.  Certain  of  the  fate 
that  awaited  them,  they  were  resolved 
to  sell  their  lives  dearly.  There  was  a 
moment  of  supreme  expectation  before 
the  commencement  of  the  deadly  com 
bat,  when  suddenly  an  Indian  galloped 
out  of  the  ranks  of  the  warriors,  and 
rode  within  three  paces  of  the  Hi  tie  band 
of  Mexicans.  On  arriving  there  he 
stopped,  and  waved  his  buffalo  robe  in 
sign  of  peace. 

The  govei'nor  of  the  provinces  pre 
pared  to  speak. 

"  Let  me  carry  on  the  negotiations," 
Don  Miguel  said.  "  1  know  the  Indians 
better  than  you  do,  and  perhaps  I  shall 
succeed  in  getting  out  of  this  awkward 
position." 

"  Do  so,"  the  governor  answered. 

General  Ibanez  was  the  only  one  who 
had  remained  calm  and  impassive  since 
the  surprise  :  he  did  not  make  a  move 
to  seize  his  weapons;  on  the  contrary, 
he  crossed  his  arms  carelessly  on  his 
chest,  and  took  a  mocking  glance  at  his 
comrades  as  he  hummed  a  seguedilla 
between  his  teeth.  ' 

Don  Pablo  had  placed  himself  by  his 
father's  side,  ready  to  defeud  him  at  the 
peril  of  his  life. 

The  Indian  chief  took  the  word. 

"  Let  the  pale-faces  listen,"  he  said  ; 
"  an  Indian  sachem  is  about  to  speak." 

"  We  have  no  time  to  spare  in  listen 
ing  to  the  insidious  words  which  you 
are  preparing  to  say  to  us,"  Don  Miguel 
replied  in  a  haughty  voice.  "  YVith- 
draw,  and  do  not  obstinately  bar  our 
passage,  or  there  will  be  blood  spilt." 

"  The  pale-faces  will  have  brought  it 
on  themselves,"  the  Cornanche  answer 
ed  in  a  gentle  voice.  "  The  Indians 
mean  no  harm  to  the  pale  warriors." 

"  Why,  then,  this  sudden  attack  ? 
The  chief  is  mad.  We  do  not  let  our 
selves  be  so  easily  deceived  as  he  seems 
to  suppose  :  we  know  very  well  that  he 
wants  our  scalps." 

"  No  ;  Unicorn  wishes  to  make  a  bar 
gain  with  the  pale- faces." 

"  Come,  chief,  explain  yourself;  per 


haps  your  intentions  are  as  you  de 
scribe  them.  I  do  not  wish  to  reproach 
myself  with  having  refused  to  listen  to 
you." 

The  Indian  smiled. 

"  Good  !"  he  said.  "  The  great  white 
chief  is  becoming  reasonable.  Let  him 
listen,  then,  to  the  words  Unicorn  will 
pronounce." 

"  Go  on,  chief;  my  comrades  and 
myself  are  listening." 

'•  The  pale-faces  are  thieving  dogs," 
the  chief  said  in  a  rough  voice  ;  "  they 
carry  on  a  continual  war  with  the  red 
skins,  and  buy  their  scalps  as  if  they 
were  peltry;  but  the  Comanches  are 
magnanimous  warriors,  who  disdain  lo 
avenge  themselves.  The  squaws  of  the 
white  men  are  in  their  power :  they 
will  restore  them." 

At  these  words  a  shudder  of  terror 
ran  along  the  ranks  of  the  hunters  ; 
their  courage  failed  them ;  they  had 
only  one  desire  left — that  of  saving 
those  who  had  so  wretchedly  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  these  blood-thirsty  men. 

"  On  what  conditions  will  the  Comun- 
ches  restore  their  prisoners  ?"  Don  Mi 
guel  asked,  whose  heart  was  contracted 
at  the  thought  of  his  daughter,  who  was 
also  a  prisoner.  He  secretly  cursed 
Valentine,  whose  fatal  advice  was  the 
sole  cause  of  the  frightful  evil  that  as 
sailed  him  at  this  moment. 

"  The  pale-faces,"  the  chief  continued, 
"  will  dismount  and  arrange  themselves 
in  a  line.  Unicorn  will  choose  from 
among  his  enemies  those  whom  he 
thinks  proper  to  carry  off  as  prisoners; 
the  rest  will  be  free,  and  all  the  women 
restored." 

"  Those  conditions  are  harsh,  chief. 
Can  you  not  modify  them  ?" 

"  A  chief  has  only  one  word.  Do 
the  pale-faces  consent  ?" 

"Let  us  consult  together  for  a  few 
moments  at  any  rate." 

"  Good  !  Let  the  white  men  consult. 
Unicorn  grants  them  ten  minutes,"  the 
chief  made  answer. 

And  turning  his  horse,  he  went  back 
to  his  men.  Don  Miguel  then  address 
ed  his  friends. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  what 
has  occurred  ?" 

The   Mexicans    were    terrified :    still 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


87 


they  were  compelled  to  allow*  that  th 
conduct  of  the  Indians  was  extraordina 
ry,  and  that  they  had  never  befor 
evinced  such  lenity.  Now  that  reflec 
tion  had  followed  on  the  first  feeling  o 
excitement,  they  understood  that  \ 
struggle  against  enemies  so  numerou 
was  insensate,  and  could  only  result  ir 
rendering  their  position  worse  than  i 
was  before,  and  that  the  chiefs  condi 
tions,  harsh  as  they  were,  offered  a 
'  least  some  chance  of  safety  for  a  portior 
of  them,  and  the  ladies  would  be  saved 
This  last  and  all-powerful  considera 
tion  decided  them.  Don  Miguel  had  no 
occasion  t6  convince  them  of  the  neces 
sity  of  submission.  Whatever  struggle 
it  cost  them,  they  dismounted  and  ar 
ranged  themselves  in  a  line,  as  the  chief 
had  demanded,  Don  Miguel  and  his  son 
placing  themselves  at  the  head. 

Unicorn,  with  that  cool  courage  cha 
racteristic  of  the  Indians,  then  advanced 
alone  toward  the  Mexicans,  who  still 
held  their  weapons,  and. who,  impelled 
by  their  despair,  and  at  the  risk  of  be 
ing  all  massacred,  would  have  sacrificed 
him  to  their  vengeance.  The  chief  had 
also  dismounted.  With  his  hands 
crossed  on  his  back,  and  trownino-  brow, 
he  now  commenced  his  inspection. 

Many  a  heart  contracted  at  his  ap 
proach,  for  a  question  of  life  and  death 
was  being  decided  for  these  hapless 
men  :  only  the  perspective  of  the  atro 
cious  tortures  which  menaced  the  ladies 
could  have  made  them  consent  to  this 
humiliating  and  degrading  condition. 
The  Unicorn,  however,  was  generous  : 
he  only  selected  eight  of  the  Mexicans, 
and  the  rest  received  permission  to 
mount  their  horses,  and  leave  the  fatal 
circle  that  begirt  them.  Still,  by  a 
strange  accident,  or  a  premeditation  of 
which  the  reason  escaped  them,  these 
(ight  prisoners — among  whom  were  the 
governor,  General  Jsturitz,  and  the 
criminal  judge,  Don  Luciano  Perez — 
were  the  most  important  personages  in 
the  party,  and  the  members  of  the  Pro 
vincial  Government. 

It  was  not  without  surprise  that  Don 
Miguel  observed  this ;  the  Comanches, 
however,  faithfully  fulfilled  their  com 
pact,  and  the  ladies  were  at  once  set  at 
liberty.  They  had  been  treated  with 


the  greatest  respect  by  the  Indians,  who 
had  surprised  their  camp,  and  seized 
them  almost  in  the  same  way  as  they 
had  done  the  hunters — that  is  to  say, 
the  camp  was  invaded  simultaneously 
on  all  sides.  It  was  a  matter  worthy 
of  remark  in  an  Indian  ambuscade  that 
not  a  drop  of  blood  had  been  spilt. 

After  the  moments  given  up  to  the 
happiness  of  seeing  his  daughter  again 
safe  and  sound,  Don  Miguel  resolved  to 
make  a  last  attempt  with  Unicorn  in 
favor  of  the  unhappy  men  who  remained 
in  his  hands.  The  chief  listened  with 
deference,  and  let  him  speak  without 
interruption ;  then  he  replied,  with  a 
smile  whose  expression  the  haciendero 
tried  in  vain  to  explain  : 

"  My  father  has  Indian  blood  in  his 
veins  ;  the  redskins  love  him :  never 
will  they  do  him  the  slightest  injury. 
Unicorn  would  like  to  restore  him  im 
mediately  the  prisoners,  for  whom  he 
sares  very  little ;  but  tliat  is  impos- 
ible.  My  father  himself  would  speedily 
regret  Unicorn's  obedience  to  his  wish  ; 
out,  in  order  to  prove  to  my  father  how 
nuch  the  chief  desires  to  do  a  thing 
,hat  will  be  agreeable  to  him,  the  pri 
soners  will  not  be  ill-treated,  and  will 
)e  let  off  with  a  few  days'  annoyance. 
Jnicorn  consents  to  accept  a  ransom 
or  them,  instead  of  making  them 
slaves.  My  father  can  himself  tell 
hem  this  good  news." 

"  Thanks,  chief,"  Don  Miguel  an- 
vvered.  "  The  nobility  of  your  charac- 
er  touches  my  heart :  I  shall  not  forget 
t.  Be  persuaded  that,  under  all  cir- 
umstances,  I  shall  be  happy  to  prove 
o  you  how  grateful  I  am." 

The  chief  bowed  gracefully  and  with- 
rew,  in  order  to  give  the  haciendero 
iberty  to  communicate  with  his  com- 
anions.  The  latter  were  seated  sadly 
n  the  ground,  gloomy  and  downcast. 
)on  Miguel  repeated  to  them  the  con- 
ersation  he  had  held  with  Unicorn,  and 
be  promise  he  had  made  with  respect 
o  them.  This  restored  them  all  their 
ourage  ;  and,  with  the  most  affectionate 
vords  and  marks  of  the  liveliest  joy, 
uey  thanked  the  haciendero  for  the  at- 
empt  he  had  made  in  their  favor. 

in   fact,  thanks   to   the   promise   of 
berating  them  for  a  ransom  at  the  end 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


of  a  week,  and  treating  them  well  dur 
ing  the  period  of  their  captivity,  there 
was  nothing  so  very  terrifying  about 
the  prospect ;  and  it  was  one  of  those 
thousand  annoyances  to  which  men  are 
exposed  by  accident,  but  whose  propor 
tions  had  been  so  reduced  in  their  eyes, 
that,  with  the  carelessness  which  forms 
the  staple  of  the  national  character,  they 
were  the  first  to  laugh  at  their  mishap. 

Don  Miguel,  however,  was  anxious 
to  retire  ;  so  he  took  leave  of  his  com 
panions,  and  rejoined  the  chief.  The 
latter  repeated  his  assurances  that  the 
prisoners  should  be  free  within  a  week, 
if  they  consented  each  to  pay  a  ransom 
of  one  thousand  piastres,  which  was  a 
trifle.  He  assured  the  haciendero  that 
he  was  at  liberty  to  withdraw  whenever 
he  pleased,  and  he  should  not  oppose 
his  departure. 

Don  Miguel  did  not  allow  the  invita 
tion  to  be  repeated.  His  friends  and 
himself  immediately  mounted  their 
horses,  together  with  the  ladies,  who 
were  placed  in  the  centre  of  the  detach 
ment  ;  and  after  taking  leave  of  Unicorn, 
the  Mexicans  dug  their  spurs  into  their 
horses,  and  started  at  a  gallop,  glad  to 
have  got  off  so  cheaply.  The  camp- 
fires  were  soon  left  far  behind  them, 
and  General  Ibanez  then  approached 
his  friend,  and  bending  down  to  his  ear, 
whispered  : 

"  Don  Miguel,  can  the  Comanches  be 
our  allies?  1  fancy  that  they  have  this 
night  given  a  bold  push  to  the  success 
of  our  enterprise." 

This  thought,  like  a  ray  of  light,  had 
already  crossed  the  haciendero's  brain 
several  times. 

"  1  do  not  know,"  he  said  with  a 
clever  smile ;  "  but  at  any  rate,  my 
dear  general,  they  are  very  adroit  foes." 

The  little  band  continued  to  advance 
rapidly  toward  the  hacienda,  which  was 
now  no  great  distance,  and  which  they 
hoped  to  reach  before  sunrise.  The 
events  we  have  described  had  occurred 
in  less  than  an  hour. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE    MEETING. 

"  BY  Jove  !"  General  Ibanez  said, 
"  it  must  be  confessed  that  these  red 
devils  have  done  us  an  immense  service 
without  suspecting  it.  It  might  be  said, 
deuce  take  me,  that  they  acted  under  a 
knowledge  of  facts.  This  Unicorn,  «s 
the  chief  is  called,  is  a  precious  man  in 
certain  circumstances.  I  am  anxious 
to  cultivate  his  acquaintance,  for  no  on 3 
knows  what  may  happen.  It  is  often 
good  to  have  so  intelligent  a  friend  as 
him  at  hand." 

"  You  are  always  jesting,  general. 
When  will  you  be  serious  for  once  ?" 
Don  Miguel  said  with  a  smile. 

"  What  would  you  have,  my  friend  ? 
We  are  at  this  moment  staking  our 
heads  in  a  desperate  game,  so  let  us  at 
any  rate  keep  our  gaiety.  If  we  are  con 
quered,  it  will  be  time  enough  then  to 
be  sad,  and  make  bitter  reflections 
about  the  instability  of  human  affairs." 

"  Yes,  your  philosophy  is  not  with 
out  a  certain  dose  of  fatalism,  which 
renders  it  more  valuable  to  me.  I  am 
happy  to  see  you  in  this  good  temper, 
especially  at  a  moment  when  we  are 
preparing  to  play  our  last  card.'' 

"  All  is  not  desperate  yet,  and  I  have 
a  secret  foreboding,  on  the  contrary, 
that  all  is  for  the  best.  Our  friend  the 
Trail-hunter,  I  feel  convinced,  has  some 
thing  to  do,  if  not  all,  with  what  has 
happened  to  us." 

"Do  you  believe  it  ?"  Don  Miguel 
asked  quickly. 

"  1  am  certain  of  it.  You  know  as 
well  as  I  do  these  Indies  Bravos,  and 
the  implacable  hatred  they  have  vowed 
against  us.  The  war  they  wage  with  us 
is  atrocious  ;  and  for  them  to  be  sud 
denly  changed  from  wolves  into  lambs 
requires  some  powerful  motive  to  make 
them  act  thus.  People  do  not  lay  aside 
in  a  moment  a  hatred  which  has  endur 
ed  for  ages.  The  Comanchts,  by  the 
choice  they  made,  know  the  importance 
of  the  prisoners  they  have  seized. 
How  is  it  that  they  consent  so  easily  to 
give  them  up  for  a  trifling  ransom  ? 
There  is  some  inexplicable  mystery  in 
all  this." 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


80 


"  Which  is  very  easy  to  explain 
though,"  a  laughing  voice  interrupted 
from  behind  the  shrubs. 

The  two  Mexicans  started,  and  check 
ed  their  horses. 

A  man  leaped  from  a  thicket,  and 
suddenly  appeared  in  the  centre  of  the 
track  the  little  band  of  hunters  was  fol 
lowing.  The  latter,  believing  in  a  fresh 
attack  and  treachery  on  the  part  of  the 
Cornanches,  seized  their  weapons. 

"  Stop  !"  Don  Miguel  said  sharply, 
"  the  man  is  alone.  Let  me  speak  with 
him." 

Each  waited  with  his  hand  on  his 
weapon. 

"  Hold  !"  Don  Miguel  continued,  ad 
dressing  the  stranger,  who  stood  motion 
less,  carelessly  resting  on  his  gun. 
"  Who  are  you,  my  master?" 

"  Do  you  not  recpgnise  me,  Don  Mi 
guel  ?  and  must  I  really  tell  you  my 
name1?"  the  stranger  answered  with  a 
laugh. 

"  The  Trail-.hunter !"  Don  Miguel 
exclaimed. 

"  Himself,"  Valentine  continued. 
"  Hang  it  all !  you  take  a  long  time  to 
recognise  your  'friends." 

"  You  will  forgive  us  when  you  know 
all  that  has  happened  to  us,  and  how 
much  we  must  keep  on  our  guard." 

"  Confound  it !"  Valentine  said  laugh 
ingly,  as  he  regulated  his  pace  by  the 
trot  of  the  horses,  "  do  you  fancy  you 
are  going  to  tell  me  any  news  1  Did 
you  not  really  suspect  from  what  quar 
ter  the  blow  came?" 

"  What !"  Don  Miguel  exclaimed  in 
surprise,  "  did  you " 

"  Who  else  but  I  ?  Do  you  think  the 
Spaniards  are  such  friends  of  the  Indi 
ana  that  the  latter  would  treat  them  so 
kindly  when  meeting  them  face  to  face 
in  the  desert  ?" 

"  I  was  sure  of  it,"  General  Ibanez 
affirmed.  "  I  guessed  it  at  the  first  mo 
ment." 

"  Good  heavens  !  nothing  was  more 
simple.  Your  position,  through  Red 
Cedar's  treachery,  was  most  critical.  I 
wished  to  give  you  the  time  to  turn 
round  by  removing,  for  a  few  days,  the 
obstacles  that  prevented  the  success  of 
your  plans.  I  have  succeeded,  I  fancy." 


"  You  could  not  have  managed  bet 
ter,"  exclaimed  the  general. 

"  Oh !"  Don  Miguel  said  with  a  re 
proachful  accent,  "  why  did  you  hide  it 
from  me  ?" 

"  For  a  very  simple  reason,  my 
friend.  I  wished  that  in  these  circum 
stances  your  will  and  conscience  should 
be  free." 

«  But " 

"  Let  me  finish.  Had  I  told  you  of 
my  plan,  it  is  certain  tha^  you  would 
have  opposed  it.  You  are  a  man  of 
honor,  Don  Miguel ;  your  heart  is 
most  loyal." 

"  My  friend " 

"  Answer  me.  Had  I  explained  to 
you  the  plan  1  formed,  what  would  you 
have  done  ?" 

<•  Well " 

"  Answer  frankly." 
"  I  should  have  refused." 
"  1  was  sure  of  it.  Why  would  you 
have  done  so  ?  Because  you  would 
never  have  consented  to  violate  the 
laws  of  hospitality,  and  betray  enemies 
you  sheltered  beneath  your  roof,  though 
you  knew  all  the  while  that  these  men, 
on  leaving  you,  would  have  considered 
it  their  duty  to  seize  you,  and  that  they 
watched  your  every  movement  while 
sitting  by  your  side,  and  eating  at  your 
table.  Is  it  not  so  ]" 

"  It  is  true  ;  my  honor  as  a  gentle 
man  would  have  revolted.  I  could 
not  have  suffered  such  horrible  treach 
ery  to  be  carried  out  under  my  very 
eyes." 

"  There  !  you  see  that  I  acted  wisely 
in  saying  nothing  to  you.  In  that  way 
your  honor  is  protected,  your  con 
science  easy,  and  I  have  in  the  most 
simple  fashion  freed  you  for  some  days 
from  your  enemies." 

"  That  is  true  ;  still " 

"  What  ?  Have  the  prisoners  to 
complain  of  the  way  in  which  they 
have  been  treated  ?" 

"  Not  at  all ;  on  the  contrary,  the 
Comanches,  and  llnicorn  in  particular, 
treated  them  most  kindly." 

"  All   is   for   the   best,   then.     You 
must  congratulate  yourself  on  the  un- 
ixpected    success   you    have    achieved, 
and  must  now  profit  by  it  without  de 
lay." 


90 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


"  I  intend  to  do  so." 

"  You  must  act  at  once." 

"  I  ask  nothing  better.  All  is  rea 
dy.  Our  men  are  warned,  and  they 
will  rise  at  the  first  signal." 

"It  must  be  given  immediately." 

"  I  only  ask  the  time  to  leave  my 
daughter  at  the  hacienda;  then  accom 
panied  by  my  friends,  I  will  march  on 
Paso,  while  General  Ibanez,  at  the  head 
of  a  second  band,  seizes  Santa  Fe." 

("  The  plan  is  well  conceived.  Can 
you  count  on  the  persons  who  follow 
you  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  they  are  all  my  relatives  or 
friends." 

"All  for  the  best.  Let  us  not  go 
further.  We  are  here  at  the  place 
where  the  roads  part ;  let  your  horses 
breathe  awhile,  and  I  will  tell  you  a 
plan  I  have  formed,  and  which,  I  think, 
will  please  you." 

The  small  party  halted.  The  horse 
men  dismounted,  and  lay  down  on  the 
grass.  As  all  knew  of  the  conspiracy 
formed  by  Don  Miguel,  and  were  his 
accomplices  in  different  degrees,  this 
halt  did  not  surprise  them,  for  they 
suspected  that  the  moment  for  action 
was  not  far  off,  and  that  their  chief 
doubtless  wished  to  take  his  final  mea 
sures  before  throwing  off  the  mask, 
and  proclaiming  the  independence  of 
New  Mexico.  On  inviting  them  to 
hunt  the  wild  horses,  Don  Miguel  had 
not  concealed  from  them  Red  Cedar's 
treachery,  and  the  necessity  in  which 
he  found  himself  of  dealing  a  great 
blow,  if  he  did  not  wish  all  to  be  hope 
lessly  lost. 

Valentine  led  the  haciendero  and  the 
general  a  short  distance  apart.  When 
they  were  out  of  ear-shot  the  hunter 
carefully  examined  the  neighborhood ; 
!hen  within  a  few  minutes  rejoined  his 
•friends,  whom  his  way  of  acting  con 
siderably  perplexed. 

"  Caballeros,"  he  said  to  them,  "  what 
do  you  intend  doing  ?  In  our  position 
minutes  are  ages.  Are  you  ready  to 
make  your  pronunciamento  ?" 

"  Yes,"  they  answered. 

"This  is  what  1  propose.  You,  Don 
Miguel,  will  proceed  direct  on  Paso. 
At  about  half  a  league  from  that  town 
you  will  find  Curumilla,  with  twenty  of 


the  best  rifles  on  the  frontier.  These 
men,  in  whom  you  can  trust,  are  Cana 
dian  and  Indian  hunters  devoted  to  me. 
They  will  form  the  nucleus  of  a  band 
sufficient  for  you  to  seize  on  Paso  with 
out  striking  a  blow,  as  it  is  only  defend 
ed  by  a  garrison  of  forty  soldiers.  Does 
that  plan  suit  you  V 

"Yes;  I  will  set  about  it  at  once. 
But  my  daughter  ?" 

"  1  will  take  charge  of  her.  You  will 
also  leave  me  your  son,  and  I  will  con 
vey  them  both  to  the  hacienda.  As  for 
the  other  ladies,  on  reaching  the  town, 
they  will  merely  go  to  their  homes, 
which  I  fancy,  presents  no  difficulty." 

"  None." 

"  Good  !     Then  that  is  settled  ?" 

"  Perfectly." 

"  As  for  you,  general,  your  men  have 
been  echelonned  by  my  care  in  parties 
of  ten  and  twenty  along  the  Santa  Fe 
road,  up  to  two  leagues  of  the  city,  so 
that  you  will  only  have  to  pick  them 
up.  In  this  way  you  will  find  yourself, 
within  three  hours,  at  the  head  of  five 
hundred  resolute  and  well-armed  men." 

"  Why,  Valentine,  rny  friend,''  the 
general  said  laughingly,  "  do  you  know 
there  is  the  stuff  in  you  to  make  a  par 
tisan  chief,  and  that  1  am  almost  jealous 
of  you." 

'•  Oh  !  that  would  be  wrong,  general : 
I  assure  you  I  am  most  disinterested  in 
the  affair." 

"  Well,  my  friend,  I  know  it :  you 
are  a  free  desert  hunter,  caring  very 
little  for  our  paltry  schemes." 

"That  is  true;  but  I  have  vowed  to 
Don  Miguel  and  his  family  a  friendship 
which  will  terminate   with  my  life.     I 
tremble  for   him  and  his  children  when 
I  think  of  the  numberless  dangers  that 
surround  him,  and  I  try  to  aid  him  as 
far  as  my  experience  and  activity  per- , 
mit  me.     That  is  the  secret  of  my  con-1 
duct." 

"  This  profession  of  faith  was  at  least 
useless,  my  friend.  1  have  known  you 
too  intimately  and  too  long  to  doubt 
your  intentions.  Hence,  you  see,  I  place 
such  confidence  in  you,  that.  1  accept 
your  ideas  without  discussion,  so  con 
vinced  am  I  of  the  purity  of  your  inten 
tions." 

"Thanks,   Don   Miguel;    you   have 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


91 


judged  me  correctly.  Come,  gentle 
men,  to  horse,  and  start.  We  must 
separate  here — you,  Don  Miguel,  to 
proceed  by  the  right-hand  track  to  Paso; 
you,  general,  by  the  left  hand  one  to 
Santa  Fe  ;  white  I,  with  Don  Pablo  and 
his  sister  proceed  straight  on  till  we 
reach  the  Hacienda  de  la  Noria." 

"  To  horse,  then !"  the  haciendero 
shouted  resolutely ;  "  and  may  God 
defend  the  right!" 

"  Yes,"  the  general  added  ;  ".for  from 
this  moment  the  revolution  is  com 
menced." 

The  three  men  returned  to  their 
friends.  Don  Miguel  said  a  few  words 
to  his  children,  and  in '  an  instant  the 
whole  party  were  in  the  saddle. 

"The  die  is  cast!"  Valentine  ex 
claimed.  "May  Heaven  keep  you, 
gentlemen  !" 

"  Forward  !"  Don  Miguel  command 
ed. 

"  Forward  !"  General  Ibanez  shout 
ed,  as  he  rushed  in  the  opposite  direc 
tion. 

Valentine  looked  after  his  departing 
friends.  Their  black  outlines  were 
soon  blended  with  the  darkness,  and 
then  the  footfalls  of  their  horses  died 
out  in  the  night.  Valentine  gave  a 
sigh  and  raised  his  head. 

.  "  God  will  protect  them,"  he  mur 
mured  ;  then  turning  to  the  two  young 
people,  "  Come  on,  children,"  he  said. 

They  started,  and  for  some  minutes 
kept  silence.  Valentine  was  too  busy 
in  thought  to  address  his  companions  ; 
and  yet  Dona  Clara  and  Don  Pablo, 
whose  curiosity  was  excited  to  the 
highest  Ditch,  were  burning  to  question 
him.  At  length  the  girl,  by  whose  side 
the  hunter  marched  with  that  quick  step 
which  easily  keeps  up  with  a  horse, 
bent  down  to  him. 

"  My  friend,"  she  said  to  him  in  her 
soft  voice,  "  what  is  taking  place  1 
Why  has  my  father  left  us,  instead  of 
coming  to  his  house?" 

"  Yes,"  Don  Pablo  added,  "  he  seem 
ed  agitated  when  he  parted  from  us. 
His  voice  was  stern,  his  words  sharp. 
What  is  happening,  my  friend  ?  Why 
did  not  my  father  consent  to  my  ac 
companying  him?" 

Valentine  hesitated  to  answer. 


"I  implore  you,  my  friend,"  Dona 
Clara  continued,  "do  not  leave  us  in 
this  mortal  anxiety.  The  announce 
ment  of  a  misfortune  would  certainly 
cause  us  less  pain  than  the  perplexity  in 
which  we  are." 

"  WThy  force  me  to  speak,  my  chil 
dren  ?"  the  hunter  answered  in  a  sad 
dened  voice.  "The  secret  'you  ask  of 
me  is  not  mine.  If  your  father  did  not 
impart  his  plans  to  you,  it  was  doubt 
less  because  weighty  reasons  oppose  it. 
Do  not  force  me  to  render  you  more 
sorrowful  by  telling  you  things  you 
ought  not  to  know." 

"  But  I  am  not  a  child,"  Don  Pablo 
exclaimed.  "  It  seems  to  me  that  my 
father  ought  not  to  have  thus  held  his 
confidence  from  me." 

"  Do  not  accuse  your  father,  my 
friend,"  Valentine  answered  gravely  : 
"  probably  he  could  not  have  acted 
otherwise." 

"Valentine,  Valentine  !  I  will  not  ac 
cept  those  poor  reasons,"  the  young 
man  urged.  "  In  the  name  of  our 
friendship  I  insist  on  your  explaining 
yourself." 

"Silence!"  the  hunter  suddenly  in 
terrupted  him.  "  I  hear  suspicious 
sounds  around  us." 

The  three  travelers  stopped  and  lis 
tened,  but«all  was  quiet.  The  hacienda 
was  about  five  hundred  yards  at  the 
most  from  the  spot  where  they  halted. 
Don  Pablo  and  Dona  Clara  heard  noth 
ing,  but  Valentine  made  them  a  si^n  to 
remain  quiet ;  then  he  dismounted  and 
placed  his  ear  to  the  ground. 

"Follow  rne,"  he  said.  "Something 
is  happening  here  which  I  cannot  make 
out;  but  it  alarms  me." 

The  young  people  obeyed  without 
hesitation  ;  but  they  had  only  gone  a 
few  paces  when  Valentine  stopped  again. 

"  Are  your  weapons  loaded !"  he 
sharply  asked  Don  Pablo. 

"  Yes." 

"  Good  !  Perhaps  you  will  have  to 
make  use  of  them." 

All  at  once  the  gallop  of  a  horse 
urged  to  its  utmost  speed  was  audible. 

"  Attention  !"    Valentine    muttered. 

Still  the  horseman,  whoever  he 
might  be,  rapidly  advanced  in  the  di 
rection  of  the  travellers,  and  soon  came 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


up  to  them.  Suddenly  Valentine  bound 
ed  like  a  panther,  seized  the  horse  by 
the  bridle  and  stopped  it  dead. 

"  Who  are  you,  and  where  are  you 
going  ?"  he  shouted,  as  he  put  a  pistol 
barrel  against  the  stranger's  chest. 

"  Heaven  be  praised  1"  the  latter 
said,  nut  replying  to  the  question. 
"Perhaps  -I  shall  be  able  to  save  you. 
Fly,  fly,  in  all  haste  !'' 

"  Father  Seraphin  !"  Valentine  said 
with  stupor,  as  he  lowered  his  pistol. 
"  What  has  happened  ?" 

"  Fly,  fly  !"  the  missionary  repeated, 
who  seemed  a  prey  to  the  most  pro 
found  terror. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE    ABDUCTION. 

RED  CEDAR  and  Fray  Ambrosio  had 
not  remained  inactive  since  their  last 
interview  up  to  the  day  when  Don  Mi 
guel  set  out  to  hunt  the  wild  horses. 
These  two  fellows,  so  suited  to  under 
stand  each  other,  had  manoeuvred  with 
extreme  skill.  Fray  Ambrosio,  all 
•whose  avaricious  instincts  had  been 
aroused  since  he  had  so  artfully  stolen 
from  poor  Joaquin  the  secret  of  his 
placer,  had  assembled  a  formidable  col 
lection  of  the  bandits  who  always 
swarm  on  the  Indian  frontiers.  In  a 
few  days  he  found  himself  at  the  head 
of  one  hundred  and  twenty  adventur 
ers,  all  men  who  had  cheated  the  gal 
lows,  and  of  whom  he  felt  the  more 
sure  as  the  secret  of  the  expedition  was 
concealed  from  them,  and  they  fancied 
they  formed  a  war-party  engaged  to  go 
scalp-hunting. 

These  men,  whc  all  knew  Red  Cedar 
by  reputation,  burnt  to  set  out,  so  con 
vinced  were  they  of  carrying  out  a  suc 
cessful  expedition  under  such  a  leader. 
Only  two  men  formed  an  exception  to 
this  band  of  scoundrels,  the  smallest 
culprit  of  whom  had  at  least  three  or 
four  murders  on  his  conscience.  They 
were  Harry  and  Dick,  who,  for  reasons 
the  reader  has  doubtless  guessed,  found 
themselves,  to  their  great  regret,  mixed 
up  with  these  bandits.  Still  we  must 


say,  in  justice  to  Fray  Ambrosio's  sol 
diers,  that  they  were  all  bold  hunters, 
accustomed  for  many  a  year  to  desert 
life,  who  knew  all  its  perils,  and  feared 
none  of  its  dangers. 

Fray  Ambrosio,-  apprehending  the 
effects  of  mezcal  and  pulque  on  hi* 
men,  had  made  them  bivouac  at  the 
entrance  of  the  desert,  at  a  sufficiently 
great  distance  from  the  Paso  del  Norte 
to  prevent  them  easily  going  there 
The  adventurers  spent  their  time  joy 
ously  in  playing,  not  for  money,  as 
they  had  none,  but  for  the  scalps  they 
intended  presently  to  lift  from  the  In 
dians,  each  of  which  represented  a  very 
decent  sum.  Still  Fray  Ambrosio,  so 
soon  as  his  expedition  was  completely 
organized,  had  only  one  desire — to  start 
as  speedily  as  possible ;  but  for  two 
days  Red  Cedar  was  not  to  be  found. 
At  length  Fray  Ambrosio  succeeded  in 
catching  him  just  as  he  was  entering 
his  jacal. 

"  What  has  become  of  you1?"  he  ask 
ed  him. 

"  What  does  that  concern  you  ?"  the 
squatter  answered  brutally.  "  Have  I 
to  answer  for  my  conduct  to  you  ?" 

"  I  do  not  say  so :  still,  connected  as 
we  are  at  this  moment,  it  would  be  as 
well  for  me  to  know  where  to  find  you 
when  I  want  you." 

"  I  have  been  attending  to  my  busi 
ness,  as  you  have  to  yours." 

"  Well,  are  you  satisfied  ?" 

"  Very  much  so,"  he  answered  with  a 
sinister  smile.  "  You  will  soon  learn 
the  result  of  my  journey  ." 

"All  the  better.  If  you  are  satisfied, 
I  am  so  too." 

"  Ah,  ah !" 

"  Yes,  all  is  ready  for  departure." 

"  Let  us  be  off — to-morrow  if  you 
like." 

"  On  this  very  night." 

"  Very  good.  You  are  like  me,  and 
don't  care  to  travel  by  day  on  account 
of  the  heat  of  the  sun." 

The  two  accomplices  smiled  at  this 
delicate  jest. 

"  But  before  starting,"  the  squatter 
continued,  becoming  serious  again,  "  we 
have  something  lett  to  do  here." 

"What  is  it  ?"  Fray  Ambrosio  asked 
with  candor. 


THE   TRAIL-HUNTER. 


93 


"  It  is  wonderful  what  a  short  memo 
ry  you  have.  Take  care :  that  failing 
may  play  an  awkward  trick  some  day.' 

"Thanks!     I  will  try  to  correct  it." 

"  Yes,  and  the  sooner  the  better  :  in 
the  meanwhile  I  will  refresh  your 
memory." 

"  I  shall  feel  obliged  to  you." 

"  And  Dona  Clara,  do  you  fancy  we 
are  going  to  leave  her  behind  ?" 

"  Hum  !  Then  you  still  think  of 
that?" 

"  By  Jove  !  more  than  ever/' 

"  The  fact  is  it  will  not  be  easy  to 
carry  her  off  at  this  moment." 

"  Why  not?" 

"  In  the  first  place,  she  is  not  at  the 
hacienda." 

"  That  is  certainly  a  reason." 

"Is  it  not?" 

"  Yes ;  but  she  must  be  somewhere, 
I  suppose  ?"  the  squatter  said  with  a 
coarse  laugh. 

"  She  has  gone  with  her  father  to  a 
hunt  of  wild  horses." 

"  The  hunt  is  over  and  they  are  on 
their  return." 

"You  are  well  informed." 

"  It  is  my  trade.  Come,  do  you  still 
mean  serving  me  ?:' 

"  I  must." 

"  That  is  how  I  like  you.  There  can 
not  be  many  people  at  the  hacienda  ?" 

"A  dozen  at  the  most." 

"Better  still.  Listen  to  me:  it  is 
now  four  in  the  afternoon.  I  have  a 
ride  to  take.  Return  to  the  hacienda, 
and  I  will  come  there  this  evening  at 
nine,  with  twenty  resolute  men.  You 
will  open  the  little  gate  of  the  corral, 
and  leave  me  to  act.  I'll  answer  for  all." 

"  If  yo»  wish  it  it  must  be  so,"  Fray 
Arnbrosio  said  with  a  sigh. 

"  Are  you  going  to  begin  again  ?"  the 
squatter  asked  in  a  meaning  voice  as  he 
rose. 

"  No,  no,  it  is  unnecessary,"  the  monk 
exclaimed.  "  I  shall  expect  you." 

"  Good  :  till  this  evening." 

"Very  well." 

On  which  the  two  accomplices  sepa 
rated.  All  happened  as  had  been  ar 
ranged  between  them.  At  nine  o'clock 
lied  Cedar  reached  the  little  gate,  which 
was  opened  for  him  by  Fray  Ambrosio, 
and  the  squatter  entered  the  hacienda 
6 


at  the  head  of  his  three  sons  and  a  party 
of  bandits.  The  peons,  surprised  iu 
their  sleep,  were  bound  before  they 
even  knew  what  was  taking  place. 

"  Now,"  Red  Cedar  said,  "  we  are 
masters  of  the  place,  the  girl  can  come 
as  soon  as  she  likes." 

"Eh?"  the  monk  went  on.  "All  is 
not  finished  yet.  Don  Miguel  is  a  reso 
lute  man,  and  is  well  accompanied  :  he; 
will  not  let  his  daughter  be  carried  off 
under  his  eyes  without  defending  her." 

"  Don  Miguel  will  not  come,"  the 
squatter  said  with  a  sardonic  grin. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?" 

"  That  is  not  your  business." 

"  We  shall  see." 

But  the  bandits  had  forgotten  Father 
Seraphin.  The  missionary,  aroused  by 
the  unusual  noise  he  heard  in  the  haci 
enda,  had  hastily  risen.  He  had  heard 
the  few  words  exchanged  between  the 
accomplices,  and  they  were  sufficient  to 
make  him  guess  the  fearful  treachery 
they  meditated.  Only  listening  to  his 
heart,  the  missionary  glided  out  into 
the  corral,  saddled  a  horse,  and  opening 
a  door,  of  which  he  had  a  key,  so  that 
he  could  enter  or  leave  the  hacienda  as 
his  duties  required,  he  started  at  full 
speed  in  the  direction  which  he  supposed 
the  hunters  must  follow  in  returning  to 
the  hacienda.  Unfortunately,  Father 
Seraphin  had  been  unable  to  effect  his 
flight  unheard  by  the  squatter's  prac 
tised  ear. 

"Maledic'ion  !"  Red  Cedar  shouted, 
as  he  rushed,  rifle  in  hand,  toward  a 
window,  which  he  dashed  out  with  his 
fist,  "  we  are  betrayed." 

The  bandits  rushed  in  disorder  into 
the  corral  where  their  horses  were  tied 
up,  and  leaped  into  their  saddles.  At 
this  moment  a  shadow  flitted  across  the 
slain  in  front  of  the  squatter,  who 
apidly  shouldered  his  rifle  and  fired. 
Then  he  went  out :  a  stifled  cry  reached 
lis  ear,  but  the  person  the  bandit  had 
ired  at  still  went  on. 

"  No  matter,"  the  squatter  muttered  ; 
that  fine  bird   has  lead   in  its  wing. 
Sharp,  sharp,  my  men,  on  the  trail !" 

And  all  the  bandits  rushed  off  in  pur 
suit  of  the  fugitive. 

Father  Seraphin  had  fallen  in  a  faint- 
ng  condition  at  Valentine's  feet. 


94 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


"  Good  heavens !"  the  hunter  ex 
claimed  in  despair,  "what  can  have 
happened  ?" 

And  he  gently  carried  the  missionary 
into  a  ditch  that  ran  by  the  side  of  the 
road.  Father  Seraphin  had  his  shoul 
der  fractured,  and  the  blood  po.ured  in 
a  stream  from  the  wound.  The  hunter 
looked  around  him;  but  at  this  mo 
ment  a  confused  sound  could  be  heard 
like  the  rolling  of  distant  thunder. 

"  We  must  fall  like  brave  men,  Don 
Pablo,  that  is  all,"  he  said  sharply. 

"  Be  at  your  ease,"  the  young  man 
answered  coldly. 

Dona  Clara  was  pale  and  trembling. 

"  Come,"  Valentine  said. 

And,  with  a  movement  rapid  as 
thought,  he  bounded  on  to  the  mission 
ary's  horse.  The  three  fugitives  start 
ed  at  full  speed.  The  flight  lasted  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  and  then  Valentine 
stopped.  He  dismounted,  gave  the 
young  people  a  signal  to  wait,  lay 
down  on  the  ground,  and  began  crawling 
on  his  hands  and  knees,  gliding  like  a 
serpent  through  the  long  grass  that  con 
cealed  him,  and  stopping  at  intervals  to 
look  around  him,  and  listen  attentively 
to  the  sounds  of  the  desert.  Suddenly 
he  rushed  towards  his  companions,  seiz 
ed  the  horses  by  the  bridle,  and  drag 
ged  them  behind  a  mound,  where  they 
remained  concealed,  breathless  and  un 
able  lo  speak. 

A  formidable  noise  of  horses  was 
audible.  Some  twenty  black  shadows 
passed  like  a  tornado  within  ten  paces 
of  their  hiding-place,  not  seeing  them  in 
consequence  of  the  darkness. 

Valentine  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"  All  hope  is  not  lost,"  he  muttered. 

He  waited  anxiously  for  five  min 
utes  :  their  pursuers  were  going  fur 
ther  away.  Presently  the  sound  of 
their  horses'  hoofs  ceased  to  disturb  the 
silence  of  the  night. 

"  To  horse  !"  Valentine  said. 

They  leaped  into  their  saddles  and 
started  again,  not  in  the  direction  of  the 
hacienda,  but  in  that  of  the  Paso. 

"  Loosen  your  bridles,"  the  hunter 
said :  "  more  still — we  are  not  mov 
ing." 

Suddenly  a  loud  neigh  was  borne  on 
the  breeze  to  the  ears  of  the  fuiritives. 


"  We  are  lost !"  Valentine  muttered. 
"They  have  found  our  trail." 

Red  Cedar  was  too  old  a  hand  on  the 
prairie  to  be  long  thrown  out :  he  soon 
perceived  that  he  was  mistaken,  and 
was  now  turning  back,  quite  certain 
this  time  of  holding  the  tra  1.  Then 
began  one  of  those  fabulous  races  which 
only  the  dwellers  on  the  prairie  can  wit 
ness — races  which  intoxicate  and  cause 
a  giddiness,  and  which  no  obstacle  is 
powerful  enough  to  stop  or  check,  for 
the  object  is  success  or  death.  The 
bandits'  half-wild  horses,  apparently 
identifying  themselves  with  the  feroci 
ous  passions  of  their  riders,  glided 
through  the  night  with  the  rapidity  of 
the  phantom  steed  in  the  German  bal 
lad,  bounded  over  precipices,  and  rush 
ed  with  prodigious  speed. 

At  times  a  horseman  rolled  with  his 
steed  from  the  top  of  a  rock,  and  fell 
into  an  abyss,  uttering  a  yell  of  dis 
tress  ;  but  his  comrades  passed  over  his 
body,  borne  along  like  a  whirlwind, 
and  responding  to  this  cry  of  agony, 
the  final  appeal  of  a  brother,  by  a  for 
midable  howl  of  rage.  This  pursuit 
had  already  lasted  two  hours,  and  the 
fugitives  had  not  lost  an  inch  of  ground  : 
their  horses,  white  with  foam,  uttered 
hoarse  cries  of  fatigue  and  exhaustion 
as  a  dense  smoke  came  out  of  their  nos 
trils. 

Dona  Clara,  with  her  hair  untied  and 
floating  in  the  breeze,  with  sparkling 
eye  and  closely-pressed  lips,  constantly 
urged  her  horse  on  with  voice  and  hand. 

"  All  is  over  !"  the  hunter  suddenly 
said.  "  Save  yourselves !  I  will  let 
myself  be  killed  here,  so  that  you  may 
go  on  for  ten  minutes  longer,  and  be 
saved.  I  will  hold  out  for  that  time, 
so  go  on." 

"  No,"  Don  Pablo  answered  nobly  ; 
"  we  will  be  all  saved  or  perish  to 
gether." 

"  Yes  "  the  maiden  remarked. 

Valentine  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  You  are  mad,"  he  said. 

All  at  once  he  started,  for  their  pnr- 
suers  were  rapidly  approaching. 

"Listen,"  he  said.  "Do  you  two 
let  yourselves  be  captured  ;  they  will 
not  follow  me,  as  they  owe  me  no 
grudge.  I  swear  to  you  that  if  I  remain 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


95 


at  liberty  I  will  deliver  you,  even  if 
they  hide  you  in  the  bowels  of  the 
e-irth." 

Without  replying  Don  Pablo  dis 
mounted,  and  Valentine  leaped  on  to 
his  horse. 

"  Hope  for  the  best !"  he  shouted 
hoarsely,  and  disappeared. 

Don  Pablo,  so  soon  as  he  was  alone 
with  his  sister,  made  her  dismount, 
seated  her  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  and 
stood  before  her  with  a  pistol  in  either 
hand.  He  had  not  to  wait  long,  for 
almost  immediately  he  was  surrounded 
by  the  bandits. 

"  Surrender  !"  Red  Cedar  shouted 
in  a  panting  voice. 

Don  Pablo  smiled  disdainfully. 

"  Here  is  my  answer,"  he  said. 

And  with  two  pistol-shots  he  laid 
two  bandits  low  ;  then  he  threw  away 
his  useless  weapons,  and  crossing  his 
arms  on  his  breast  said  : 

"  Do  what  you  please  now  j  I  am 
avenged." 

Red  Cedar  bounded  with  fury. 

"  Kill  that  dog  !"  he  shouted. 

Shaw  rushed  toward  the  young  man, 
threw  his  nervous  arms  around  him, 
and  whispered  in  his  ear : 

"  Do  not  resist,  but  fall  as  if  dead." 

Don  Pablo  mechanically  followed 
his  advice. 

"  It  is  all  over,"  said  Shaw.  "  Poor 
devil !  he  did  not  cling  to  life." 

He  returned  his  knife  to  his  belt, 
threw  the  supposed  corpse  on  his  shoul 
ders,  and  dragged  it  into  a  ditch.  At 
the  sight  of  her  brother's  body,  whom 
she  supposed  to  be  dead,  Dona  Clara 
uttered  a  shriek  of  despair  and  fainted. 

Red  Cedar  laid  the  maiden  across 
his  saddle-bow,  and  the  whole  band, 
starting  at  a  gallop  was  soon  lost  in 
the  darkness. 

Don  Pablo  then  rose  slowly,  and 
took  a  sorrowful  glance  around. 

"  My  poor  sister  !"  he  murmured. 

Then  he  perceived  her  horse  near 
him. 

"  Valentine  alone  can  save  her,"  he 
said. 

He  mounted  the  horse,  and  proceed 
ed  toward  the  Paso,  asking  himself  this 
question,  which  he  found  it  impossible 
to  answer : 


"  But  why  did  not  that  man  kill 
me?" 

A  few  paces  from  the  village  he  per 
ceived  two  men  halting  on  the  road, 
and  conversing  with  the  greatest  ani 
mation.  They  hurriedly  advanced  to 
ward  him,  and  the  young  man  uttered 
a  cry  of  surprise  on  recognising  them. 

They  were  Valentine  and  Curumilla. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE    REVOLT. 

DON  MIGUEL  ZARATE  had  marched 
rapidly  on  the  Paso,  and  an  hour  after 
leaving  Valentine  he  saw  flashing  in 
the  distance  the  lights  that  shone  in  the 
village  windows.  The  greatest  calm 
ness  prevailed  in  the  vicinity  ;  only  at 
times  could  be  heard  the  barking  of  the 
dogs  baying  at  the  moon,  or  the,  savage 
miawling  of  the  wild  cats  hidden  in  the 
shrubs.  At  about  one  hundred  yards 
from  the  village  a  man  suddenly  rose 
before  the  small  party. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?"  he  shouted. 

" Mejico  y  independencia"  the  haci- 
endero  answered. 

"Que  genie  ?"  the  stranger  continued. 

"  Don  Miguel  Zarate." 

At  these  words  twenty  men  hidden 
in  the  brushwood  rose  suddenly,  and 
throwing  their  rifles  on  their  shoulders, 
advanced  to  meet  the  horsemen.  They 
were  the  hunters  commanded  by  Curu 
milla,  who,  by  Valentine's  orders,  were 
awaiting  the  haciendero's  arrival  to  join 
him. 

"  Well,"  Don  Miguel  asked  the  chief, 
"  is  there  anything  new  ?" 

Curumilla  shook  his  head. 

"  Then  we  can  advance  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  What  is  the  matter,  chief?  Have 
you  seen  anything  alarming?" 

"No;  and  yet^I  have  a  feeling  of 
treachery." 

"  How  so  ?" 

"  I  cannot  tell  you.  Apparently 
everything  is  as  usual:  still  there  is 
something  which  is  not  so.  Look  you, 
it  is  scarce  ten  o'clock :  generally  ab 
that  hour  all  the  mesons  are  full,  the 


96 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


ventas  are  crammed  with  gamblers  and 
drinkers,  the  streets  flocked  with  pro- 
menaders.  This  night  there  is  nothing 
of  the  sort:  all  is  closed — the  town 
seems  abandoned.  This  tranquillity  is 
factitious.  I  am  alarmed,  for  /  hear 
the  silence.  Take  care."  » 

Don  Miguel  was  involuntarily  struck 
.  by  the  chiefs  remarks.  He  had  known 
Curumilla  for  a  long  time.  He  had 
often  seen  him  display  in  the  most  dan 
gerous  circumstances  a  coolness  and 
contempt  for  death  beyond  all  praise  : 
hence  some  importance  must  be  attached 
to  the  apprehensions  and  anxiety  of  such 
a  man.  The  haciendero  ordered  his 
party  to  halt,  assembled  his  friends,  and 
held  a  council.  All  were  of  opinion 
that,  before  venturing  to  advance  fur 
ther,  they  should  send  as  scout  a  clever 
man  to  traverse  the  town,  and  see  for 
himself  if  the  fears  of  the  Indian  chief 
were  well  founded. 

One  of  the  hunters  offered  himself. 
The  conspirators  concealed  themselves 
on  either  side  the  road,  and  awaited, 
lying  in  the  shrubs,  the  return  of  their 
messenger.  He  was  a  half-breed,  Simon 
Munez  by  name,  to  whom  the  Indians 
had  given  the  soubriquet  of  "  Dog-face," 
owing  to  his  extraordinary  likeness  to 
that  animal.  This  name  had  stuck  to 
the  hunter,  who,  nolens  volem,  had  been 
compelled  to  accept  it.  He  was  short 
and  clumsy,  but  endowed  with  marvel 
lous  strength ;  and  we  may  say  at  once 
that  he  was  an  emissary  of  Red  Cedar, 
and  had  only  joined  the  hunters  in  order 
to  betray  them. 

When  he  left  the  conspirators  he  pro 
ceeded  toward  the  village  whistling. 
He  had  scarce  taken  a  dozen  steps  into 
the  first  street  ere  a  door  opened,  and  a 
man  appeared.  This  man  stepped  for 
ward  and  addressed  the  hunter. 

"  You  whistle  very  late,  my  friend." 

"  A  whistle  to  wake  those  who  are 
asleep,"  the  half  breed  made  answer. 

"  Come  in,"  the  man  continued. 

Dog-face  went  in,  and  the  door  closed 
upon  him.  He  remained  in  the  house 
half  an  hour,  then  went  out,  and  hur 
ried  back  along  the  road  he  had  tra 
versed. 

Red  Cedar,  who  wished  before  all  to 
avenge  himself  on  Don  Miguel  Zarate, 


had  discovered,  through  Fray  Ambro- 
sio,  the  conspirators'  new  plan.  With 
out  loss  of  time  he  had  taken  his  mea 
sures  in  consequence,  and  had  managed 
so  well  that,  although  the  general,  the 
governor,  and  the  criminal  judge  were 
prisoners,  Don  Miguel  must  succumb 
in  the  contest  he  was  preparing  to  pro 
voke. 

Fray  Ambrosio,  to  his  other  quali 
ties,  joined  that  of  being  a  listener  at 
doors.  In  spite  of  the  distrust  which 
his  patron  was  beginning  to  display  to 
ward  him  on  Valentine's  recommenda 
tion,  he  had  surprised  a  conversation 
between  Don  Miguel  and  General 
Ibanez.  This  conversation,  immediate 
ly  reported  to  Red  Cedar,  who,  accord 
ing  to  his  usual  custom,  had  appeared 
to  attach  no  importance  to  it,  had  been 
sufficient,  however,  to  make  the  squat- 
er  prepare  his  batteries  and  counter 
mine  the  conspiracy. 

Dog-face  rejoined  his  companions 
after  an  hour's  absence. 

"  Well?"  Don  Miguel  asked  him. 

"  All  is  quiet,"  the  half-breed  answer 
ed  ;  "  the  inhabitants  have  retired  to 
their  houses,  and  everybody  is  asleep." 

"  You  noticed  nothing  of  a  suspicious 
nature?" 

"  I  went  through  the  town  from  one 
end  to  the  other,  and  saw  nothing." 

"  We  can  advance,  then?" 

"  In  all  security  :  it  will  only  be  a 
promenade." 

On  this  assurance  the  conspirators 
regained  their  courage,  Curumilla  was 
treated  as  a  visionary,  and  the  order 
was  given  to  advance.  Still  Dog  face's 
report,  far  from  dissipating  the  Indian 
chiefs  doubts,  had  produced  the  con 
trary  effect,  and  considerably  augment 
ed  them.  Saying  nothing,  he  placed 
himself  by  the  hunter's  side,  with  the 
secret  intention  of  watching  him 
closely. 

The  plan  of  the  conspirators  was 
very  simple.  They  would  march 
directly  on  the  Cabildo  (Town-hall), 
seize  it,  and  proclaim  a  Provisional 
Government.  Under  present  circum 
stances  nothing  appeared  to  be  easier. 
Don  Miguel  and  his  band  entered  the 
Paso,  and  nothing  occurred  to  arouse 
their  suspicions.  It  resembled  that 


TIIE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


town  in  the  "  Arabian  Nights,"  in  which 
all  the  inhabitants,  struck  by  the  wand 
of  the  wicked  enchanter,  sleep  an  eter 
nal  sleep.  The  conspirators  advanced 
into  the  town  with  their  rifle  barrels 
thrust  forward,  with  eye  and  ear  on  the 
watch,  and  ready  to  fire  at  the  slightest 
alarm ;  but  nothing  stirred.  As  Cur- 
umilla  had  observed,  the  town  was  too 
quiet.  This  tranquillity  hid  something 
extraordinary,  and  must  conceal  the 
tempest.  In  spite  of  himself  Don  Mi 
guel  felt  a  secret  apprehension  which  he 
could  not  master. 

To  our  European  eyes  Don  Miguel 
will  perhaps  appear  a  poor  conspirator, 
without  foresight  or  any  great  connec 
tion  in  his  ideas.  From  our  point  of 
view  that  is  possible  ;  but  in  a  country 
like  Mexico,  which  counts  its  revolu 
tions  by  hundreds,  and  where  pronun- 
ciamentos  take  place,  in  most  cases, 
without  sense  or  reason^  because  a  col 
onel  wishes  to  become  a  general,  or  a 
lieutenant  a  captain,  things  are  not  re 
garded  so  closely  ;  and  the  haciendero, 
on  the  contrary,  had  evidenced  tact, 
prudence,  and  talent  in  carrying  out  a 
conspiracy  which,  during  the  several 
years  it  had  been  preparing,  had  only 
come  across  one  traitor.  And  now  it 
was  too  late  to  turn  back :  the  alarm 
had  been  given,  and  the  Government 
was  on  its  guard.  They  must  go  on 
wards,  even  if  they  succumbed  in  the 
struggle. 

All  these  considerations  had  been 
fully  weighed  by  Don  Miguel ;  and  he 
had  not  given  the  signal  till  he  was  driven 
into  his  last  intrenchments,  and  con 
vinced  that  there  was  no  way  of  escape 
left  him.  Was  it  not  a  thousand  fold 
better  to  die  bravely  with  arms  in  their 
hands,  in  support  of  a  just  cause,  than 
wait  to  be  arrested  without  having 
made  an  attempt  to  succeed  ?  Don 
Miguel  had  sacrificed  his  life,  and  no 
more  could  be  expected  of  him. 

In  the  mean  while  the  conspirators 
advanced.  They  had  nearly  reached 
the  heart  of  the  town ;  they  were  at 
this  moment  in  a  little,  dirty,  and  nar 
row  street,  called  the  Calle  de  San  Isi- 
dro,  which  opens  out  on  the  Plaza 
Mayor,  when  suddenly  a  dazzling  light 
illumined  the  darkness ;  torches  flashed 


from  all  the  windows ;  and  Don  Miguel 
saw  that  the  two  ends  of  the  street  in 
which  he  was  were  guarded  by  strong 
detachments  of  cavalry. 

"  Treachery  !"  the  conspirators  shout 
ed  in  terror. 

Curumilla  bounded  on  Dog-face,  and 
buried  his  knife  between  his  shoulders. 
The  half-breed  fell  in  a  lump,  quite 
dead,  and  not  uttering  a  cry.  Don 
Miguel  judged  the  position  at  the  first 
glance :  he  saw  that  he  and  his  party 
were  lost. 

"  Let  us  die  !"  he  said. 

"  We  will  !"  the  conspirators  reso 
lutely  responded. 

Curumilla  with  the  butt  of  his  rifle 
beat  in  the  door  of  the  nearest  house, 
and  rushed  in,  the  conspirators  follow 
ing  him.  They  were  soon  intrenched 
on  the  roof.  In  Mexico  all  the  houses 
have  flat  roofs,  formed  like  terraces. 
Thanks  to  the  Indian  chiefs  idea,  the 
rebels  found  themselves  in  possession 
of  an  improvised  fortress,  where  they 
could  defend  themselves  for  a  long 
time,  and  sell  their  lives  dearly. 

The  troops  advanced  from  each  end 
of  the  street,  while  the  roots  of  all  the 
houses  were  occupied  by  soldiers.  The 
battle  was  about  to  begin  between 
earth  and  heaven,  and  promised  to  be 
terrible.  •  At  this  moment  General 
Guerrero,  who  commanded  the  troops, 
bade  them  halt,  and  advanced  alone  to 
the  house  on  the  top  of  which  the  con 
spirators  were  intrenched.  Don  Mi 
guel  beat  up  the  guns  of  his  comrades, 
who  aimed  at  the  officer. 

"  Wait,"  he  said  to  them  ;  and,  ad 
dressing  the  general,  "What  do  you 
want  ?"  he  shouted. 

"  To  offer  you  propositions." 

"  Speak." 

The  general  came  a  few  paces  nearer, 
so  that  those  he  addressed  could  not 
miss  one  of  his  words. 

"  I  offer  you  life  and  liberty  if  you 
consent  to  surrenderyour  leader,"he  said . 

"  Never  !"  the  conspirators  shouted 
in  one  voice. 

"  It  is  my  place  to  answer,"  Don  Mi 
guel  said  ;  and  then  turning  to  the  gen 
eral,  "  What  assurance  do  you  give  me 
that  these  conditions  will  be  honorably 
carried  out  ?" 


98 


THE    TKATL-HUNTER. 


"  My  word  of  honor  as  a  soldier," 
the  general  answered. 

"  Very  good,"  Don  Miguel  went  on ; 
fi  I  accept.  All  the  men  who  accompa 
ny  me  will  leave  the  town  one  after  the 
other." 

"No,  we  will  not !"  the  conspirators 
shouted  as  they  brandished  their  wea 
pons  ;  "  we  would  sooner  die." 

"  Silence  !"  the  haciendero  said  in  a 
loud  voice.  "  1  alone  have  the  right 
to  speak  here,  for  I  am  your  chief. 
The  life  of  brave  men  like  you  must 
not  be  needlessly  sacrificed.  Go,  I 
say  ;  I  order  you — I  implore  it  of 
you,"  he  added  with  tears  in  his  voice. 
"  Perhaps  you  will  soon  take  your 
revenge." 

The  conspirators  hung  their  heads 
mournfully. 

"  Well  ?"  the  general  asked. 

"  My  friends,  accept.  I  will  remain 
alone  here.  If  you  break  your  word  I 
will  kill  myself." 

"  I  repeat  that  you  hold  my  word," 
the  general  answered. 

The  conspirators  came  one  after  the 
other  to  embrace  Don  Miguel,  and  then 
went  down  into  the  street  without  be 
ing  in  any  way  interfered  with.  Things 
happen  thus  in  this  country,  where  con 
spiracies  and  revolutions  are  on  the 
order  of  the  day,  as  it  were'.  The  de 
feated  are  spared  as  far  as  possible, 
from  the  simple  reason  that  the  victors 
may  find  themselves  to-morrow  fighting 
side  by  side  with  them  for  the  same 
cause. 

Curumilla  was  the  last  to  depart. 

"  AH  is  not  ended  yet,"  he  said  to 
Don  Miguel.  "  Koutonepi  will  save 
you,  father." 

The  haciendero  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"  Chief,"  he  said  in  a  deeply  moved 
voice,  "  1  leave  my  daughter  to  Valen 
tine,  Father  Seraphin,  and  yourself. 
Watch  over  her;  the  poor  child  will 
soon  have  no  father." 

Curumilla  embraced  Don  Miguel  si 
lently  and  retired ;  he  had  soon  disap 
peared  in  the  crowd,  the  general  having 
honorably  kept  his  word. 

Don  Miguel  threw  down  his  weapons 
and  descended. 

"  I  am  your  prisoner,"  he  said. 

General  Guerrero  bowed,  and  made 


him  a  sign  to  mount  the  horse  a  soldier 
had  brought  up. 

"  Where  are  we  going?"  the  hacien 
dero  said. 

"To  Santa  Fe,"  the  general  answer 
ed,  "  where  you  will  be  tried  with  Gen 
eral  Ibanez,  who  will  doubtless  soon  be 
a  prisoner  like  yourself." 

"  Oh !"  Don  Miguel  muttered  thought 
fully,  "  who  betrayed  us  this  time  ?" 

"  It  was  still  lied  Cedar,"  the  general 
answered. 

The  haciendero  let  his  head  sink  on 
his  chest,  and  remained  silent.  A  quar 
ter  of  an  hour  later  the  prisoner  left 
the  Paso  del  Norte,  escorted  by  a  regi 
ment  of  dragoons.  When  the  last 
trooper  had  disappeared  in  the  wind 
ings  of  the  road  three  men  left  the 
shrubs  that  concealed  them,  and  stood 
like  three  phantoms  in  the  midst  of  the 
desolate  plain. 

"  O  heavens !"  Don  Pablo  cried  in  a 
heart-rending  voice,  "  my  father,  my 
sister — who  will  restore  them  to  me  ?  ' 

"  1 !"  Valentine  said  in  a  grave  voice, 
as  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
"  Am  I  not  the  TRAIL-HUNTER?" 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

EL   KANCHO    DEL    COYOTE. 

ABOUT  a  month  after  the  events  we 
have  described  in  the  first  part  of  this 
veracious  history,  two  horsemen,  well 
mounted,  and  carefully  enwrapped  in 
their  cloaks,  entered  at  a  smart  trot  the 
town  of  Santa  Fe  between  three  and 
four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 

Santa  Fe,  the  capital  of  New  Mexico, 
is  a  pretty  town,  built  in  the  midst  of  a 
laughing  and  fertile  plain.  One  of  its 
sides  occupies  the  angle'  formed  by  a 
small  stream :  it  is  surrounded  by  the 
adobe  walls  of  the  houses  by  which  it  is 
bordered.  The  entrance  of  each  street 
is  closed  by  stakes  in  the  form  of  pali 
sades  ;  and  like  the  majority  of  towns 
in  Spanish  America,  the  houses,  built 
only  one  story  high  in  consequence  of 
the  earthquakes,  are  covered  with  ter 
races  of  well-beaten  earth,  called  azoteas, 
which  are  a  sufficient  protection  in  this 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


99 


glorious  climate,  where  the  sky  is  con 
stantly  pure. 

In  the  time  of  the  Castilian  rule 
Santa  Fe  enjoyed  a  certain  importance, 
owing  to  its  strategic  position,  which 
allowed  an  easy  defence  against  the  in 
cursions  of  the  Indians  ;  but  since  the 
emancipation  of  Mexico  this  city,  like 
sll  the  other  centres  of  population  in 
his  unhappy  country,  has  seen  its 
plendor  vanish  for  ever,  and  despite 
the  fertility  of  its  soil  and  the  magni 
ficence  of  its  climate,  it  has  entered  intc 
such  a  state  of  decadence  that  the  day 
is  at  hand  when  it  will  be  only  an  unin 
habited  ruin.  In  a  word,  this  city, 
which  fifty  years  back  contained  more 
than  ten  thousand  inhabitants,  has  now 
scarcely  three  thousand,  eaten  up  by 
fevers  and  the  utmost  wretchedness. 

Still  during  the  last  few  weeks  Santa 
Fe  had  appeared  to  emerge,  as  if  by 
magic  from  the  lethargy  into  which  it 
is  ordinarily  plunged  ;  a  certain  degree 
of  animation  prevailed  in  its  usually 
deserted  streets  ;  in  short,  a  new  life 
circulated  in  the  veins  of  this  popula 
tion,  to  whom,  however,  all  must  appear 
a  matter  of  indifference.  The  fact  was 
that  an  event  of  immense  importance 
had  recently  taken  place  in  this  town. 
The  two  leaders  of  the  conspiracy  late 
ly  attempted  had  been  transferred  to 
safe  keeping  at  Santa  Fe. 

The  Mexicans,  ordinarily  so  slow 
when  justice  has  to  be  dealt,  are  the 
most  expeditious  people  in  the  world 
when  a  conspiracy  has  to  be  punished. 
Don  Miguel  and  General  Ibanez  had 
not  pined  long  in  prison.  A  court-mar 
tial,  hurriedly  convened,  had  assembled 
under  the  presidency  of  the  governor, 
and  the  two  conspirators  were  unani 
mously  condemned  to  be  shot. 

The  haciendero,  through  his  name 
and  his  position,  and  especially  on  ac 
count  of  his  fortune,  had  numerous  par 
tisans  in  the  province  :  hence  the  an 
nouncement  of  the  verdict  had  caused  a 
profound  stupor,  which  almost  imme 
diately  changed  into  anger,  among  the 
rich  land-owners  and  the  Indians  of 
New  Mexico.  A  dull  agitation  prevail 
ed  throughout  the  country ;  and  the 
governor,  who  felt  too  weak  to  hold 
head  against  the  storm  that  threatened 


him,  and  regretted  that  he  had  carried 
matters  so  far,  was  temporising,  and 
trying  to  evade  the  peril  of  his  position 
until  a  regiment  of  dragoons  he  had 
asked  of  the  Government  arrived,  and 
gave  strength  to  the  law.  The  con 
demned  men,  whom  the  governor  had 
not  yet  dared  to  place  in  capUla,  were 
still  provisionally-  detained  in  the  pri 
son. 

The  two  men  of  whom  we  have 
spoken,  rode  without  stopping  through 
the  streets  of  the  town,  deserted  at  this 
hour,  when  everybody  is  at  home  en 
joying  his  siesta,  and  proceeded  toward 
an  unpretending  rancho,  built  on  the 
banks  of  the  stream,  at  the  opposite 
end  of  the  town  from  that  by  which 
they  entered. 

"  Well,"  one  of  the  horsemen  said, 
addressing  his  comrade,  "  was  I  not 
rigi.t?  You  see  every  one  is  asleep: 
there  is  nobody  to  watch  us.  We  have 
arrived  at  a  capital  moment." 

"  Bah !"  the  other  answered  in  a 
rough  voice,  "  do  you  believe  that  ?  In 
towns  there  is  always  somebody  watch 
ing  to  see  what  does  not  concern  him, 
and  report  it  after  his  fashion." 

"  That   is   possible,"    the    first   said,          4 
shrugging    his    shoulders   disdainfully. 
'  I  care  about  it  as  little  as  I  do  for  a 
itring-halt  horse." 

"  And  1,  too,"  the  other  said  sharply. 
"  Do  you  imagine  that  I  care  more 
than  you  do  for  the  gossips  ?  But  stay  ; 
[  fancy  we  have  reached  the  rancho  of 
Andres  Garote.  This  must  be  the  filthy 
tenement,  unless  I  am  mistaken." 

"  It  is  the   house.     I   only  hope  the 
scamp  has  not  forgotten  the  meeting  I 
gave    him.       Wait    a    minute,    senor 
Dadre  ;  1  will  give  the  agreed-on  signal." 
"  It  is  not  worth  while,  Red  Cedar. 
You   know  that  I  am  always  at  your 
sxcellency's  orders  when  you  may  please 
o  give   them,"  a  mocking  voice  said 
Tom    inside   the    rancho,  the   door  of 
which  immediately  opened  to  give  ad 
mission  to  the  new-comers,  and  allowed 
a  glimpse  of  the  tall  figure  and  intelli 
ent  face  of  Andres  Garote  himself. 

"  Ave  Maria  purissima  !"  the  travel 
ers  said,  as  they  dismounted  and  en 
tered  the  rancho. 

"  Sin  peccado   concebida !"    Andres 


100 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


replied,  as  he  took  the  bridles  of  the 
horses  and  led  them  to  the  corral,  where 
he  unsaddled  them  and  gave  each  a 
truss  of  alfalfa. 

The  travellers,  fatigued  by  a  long 
journey,  sat  down  on  butaccas  arranged 
against  the  wall,  and  awaited  the  host's 
return,  while  wiping  their  dank  fore 
heads  and  twisting  a  maize  cigarette 
between  their  fingers. 

The  room  in  which  they  were  had 
nothing  extremely  attractive  about  it. 
It  was  a  large  chamber  with  two  win 
dows,  protected  by  iron  bars,  the  greasy 
panes  allowing  but  a  doubtful  light  to 
pass.  The  naked  and  smoky  walls 
were  covered  with  clumsily-painted  pic 
tures,  representing  various  holy  objects. 
The  furniture  only  consisted  of  three  or 
four  halting  tables,  the  same  number 
of  benches,  and  a  few  butaccas,  the 
torn  and  harsh  leather  of  which  evinced 
lengthened  use.  As  for  the  floor,  it 
was  merely  of  beaten  earth,  but  ren 
dered  uneven  by  the  mud  incessantly 
brought  in  upon  the  feet  of  visitors.  A 
door  carefully  closed  led  to  an  inner 
room,  in  which  the  ranchero  slept. 
Another  door  was  opposite  to  it,  and 
through  this  Andres  speedily  entered 
after  giving  the  horses  their  provender. 

"  I  did  not  expect  you  yet,"  he  said 
as  he  entered  ;  "  but  you  are  welcome. 
Is  there  anything  new  ?" 

"  My  faith,  I  know  nothing  but  the 
affair  that  brings  us.  It  is  rather  se 
rious,  I  fancy,  and  prevents  us  attend 
ing  to  anything  else,"  Red  Cedar  re 
marked. 

"  Caspita !  what  vivacity,  compa- 
dre !"  Andres  exclaimed.  "  But,  be 
fore  talking,  I  hope  you  will  take  some 
refreshment  at  any  rale.  There  is  no 
thing  like  a  cup  of  mezcal  or  pulque  to 
clear  the  brain." 

"  Not  to  forget,"  Fray  Ambrosio 
said,  "  that  it  is  infernally  hot,  and  my 
tongue  is  glued  to  my  palate,  as  I  have 
swallowed  so  much  dust." 

"Cuerpode  Dios!"  Andres  said  as  he 
went  to  look  for  a  bottle  among  several 
others  arranged  on  a  sort  of  bar,  and 
placed  it  before  the  travelers.  "  Pay 
attention  to  that,  senor  padre  ;  for  it  is 
serious,  and  you  run  a  risk  of  death, 
car  air 


"  Give  me  the  remedy,  then,  chatter 
er,"  the  monk  replied  as  he  held  out  his 
glass. 

The  mezcal,  liberally  poured  out, 
was  swallowed  at  a  draught  by  the 
three  men,  who  put  back  their  glasses 
on  the  table  with  a  "  hum"  of  satisfac 
tion,  and  that  clinking  of  the  tongue  pe 
culiar  to  topers  when  they  are  swallow 
ing  anything  that  tickles  the  throat. 

"  And  now  suppose  we  talk  serious 
ly,"  Red  Cedar  said. 

"  At  your  orders,  senores  caballeros," 
Andres  replied.  "Still,  if  you  prefer  a 
hand  at  monte,  you  know  that  I  have 
cards  at  your  service." 

"  Presently,  Senor  Andres,  presently. 
Everything  will  have  its  turn.  Let  us 
first  settle  our  little  business,"  Fray 
Ambrosio  judiciously  observed. 

Andres  Garote  bowed  his  head  in  re 
signation,  while  thrusting  back  into  his 
pocket  the  pack  of  cards  he  had  already 
half  drawn  out.  The  three  men  made 
themselves  as  comfortable  as  they 
could,  and  Red  Cedar,  after  casting  a 
suspicious  glance  around  him,  at  length 
took  the  word. 

"  You  know,  caballeros,"  he  said, 
"  how,  when  we  thought  we  had  noth 
ing  to  do  but  proceed  straight  to  Apa- 
cheria,  the  sudden  desertion  of  nearly 
all  our  gambusinos  checked  us.  The 
position  was  most  critical  for  us,  and 
the  abduction  of  Dona  Clara  compelled 
us  to  take  the  utmost  precautions." 

"That  is  true,"  Andres  Garote  ob 
served  with  an  air  of  conviction. 

"  Althuugh  certain  influential  persons 
protect  us  under  the  rose,"  Red  Cedar 
continued,  "  we  are  compelled  to  keep 
in  the  shade  as  far  as  we  can.  I  there 
fore  sought  to  remedy  the  gravest 
points  in  the  business.  In  the  first 
place,  the  girl  was  hidden  in  an  inacces 
sible  retreat,  and  then  I  began  looking 
for  comrades  to  take  the  place  of  those 
who  abandoned  us  so  suddenly." 

"  Well  ?"  the  two  men  interrupted 
him  sharply. 

"  At  this  moment,"  Red  Cedar  calm 
ly  continued,  "  when  the  placers  of 
California  call  away  all  the  men  belong 
ing  to  the  profession,  it  was  certainly  no 
easy  task  to  collect  one  hundred  men  of 
the  sort  we  want,  the  more  so  as  we 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


101 


shall  have  to  fight  the  Indies  Bravos  in 
our  expedition.  I  did  not  care  to  enlist 
novices,  who  at  the  sight  of  the  first 
Apache  or  Comanche  savages,  would 
bolt  in  terror,  and  leave  us  in  the  lurch 
on  the  prairies.  What  I  wanted  were 
resolute  men,  whom  no  fatigue  would 
disgust,  and  who,  once  attached  to  our 
enterprise,  would  follow  it  out  to  the 
end.  I  have,  therefore,  during  the  past 
month,  been  running  about  to  all  the 
frontier  presidios ;  and  the  devil  has 
come  to  my  help  tolerably  well,  for  the 
evil  is  now  repaired,  and  the  band  com 
plete." 

"  I  hope,  Red  Cedar,"  Fray  Ambro- 
sio  asked,  "  that  you  have  not  spoken 
about  the  placer  to  your  men  ]" 

"  Do  y  ou  take  me  for  a  fool  ?  No, 
padre,"  the  squatter  answered  sharply, 
"  no,  no.  A  hundred  thousand  reasons 
urge  us  to  be  prudent,  and  keep  the  ex 
pedition  secret.  In  the  first  place,  I  do 
not  wish  to  make  the  fortune  of  the 
Government  while  making  our  own. 
An  indiscretion  would  ruin  us  now, 
when  the  whole  world  only  dreams  of 
mines  and  placers,  and  Europe  sends  us 
a  mob  of  lean  and  starving  vagabonds, 
greedy  to  grow  fat  at  our  expense." 

"  Famously  reasoned,"-  said  Andres. 

"  No,  no,  trust  to  me.  I  have  as 
sembled  the  finest  collection  of  picaros 
ever  brought  together  for  an  expedi 
tion,  all  food  for  the  gallows,  .ruined  by 
monte,  who  do- not  care  for  hard  blows, 
and  on  whom  I  can  fully  count,  while 
being  very  careful  not  to  drop  a  word 
that  can  enlighten  them  as  to  the  spot 
•whither  we  propose  leading  them  ;  for, 
in  that  case,  I  know  as  well  as  you  do 
that  they  would  abandon  us  without 
the  slightest  scruples,  or,  as  is  even 
more  probable,  assassinate  us  to  gain 
possession  of  the  immense  treasures  we 
covet." 

"  Nothing  can  be  more  just,"  Fray 
Ambrosio  answered.  "  I  am  quite  of 
your  opinion,  Red  Cedar.  Now  what 
have  you  resolved  on1?" 

"  We  have  not  an  instant  to  lose," 
the  squatter  continued.  "  This  very 
evening,  or  to-morrow  at  the  latest,  we 
must  set  out.  Who  knows  whether 
we  have  not  already  delayed  our  start 
too  long  1  Perhaps  one  of  those  Euro 


pean  vagabonds  may  have  discovered 
our  placer,  for  those  scoundrels  have  a 
peculiar  scent  for  gold." 

Fray  Ambrosio  cast  a  suspicious 
glance  at  his  partner. 

"  Hum  !"  he  muttered,  "  that  would 
be  very  unlucky,  for  hitherto  the  busi 
ness  has  been  well  managed." 

"  For  that  reason,"  Red  Cedar  has 
tened  to  add,  "  I  only  suggest  a  doubt 
— nothing  more." 

"  Come,  Red  Cedar,"  the  monk  said, 
"  you  have  yourself  narrated  all  the 
embarrassments  of  our  position,  and 
the  countless  difficulties  we  shall  have 
to  surmount  before  reaching  our  object. 
Why,  then,  complicate  the  gravity  of 
our  situation  still  more,  and  create 
fresh  enemies  needlessly  ?" 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  senor  pa 
dre.  Be  good  enough  to  explain  your 
self  more  clearly." 

"  I  allude  to  the  young  girl  you  car 
ried  off." 

"Ah,  ah!"  Red  Cedar  said  with  a 
grin,  "  is  that  where  the  shoe  pinches 
you,  comrade  1  I  am  vexed  at  it ;  but 
I  will  not  answer  your  question.  If  I 
carried  off  that  woman,  it  was  because 
I  had  pressing  reasons  to  do  so.  These 
reasons  still  exist ;  that  is  all  I  can  tell 
you.  All  the  better  if  these  explana 
tions  are  sufficient  for  you  ;  if  not,  you 
must  put  up  with  them,  for  you  will 
get  no  others." 

"  Still  it  appears  to  me  that,  regard 
ing  the  terms  on  which  we  stand  to 
each  other " 

"  What  can  there  be  in  common  be 
tween  the  abduction  of  Dona  Clara  and 
the  discovery  of  a  placer  in  the  heart 
of  Apacheria  ?  Come,  you  are  mad, 
Fray  Ambrosio  ;  the  mezcal  is  getting 
to  your  head." 

"  Still "  the  monk  insisted. 

"  Enough  of  that !"  Red  Cedar 
shouted  as  he  roughly  smote  the  table 
with  his  clenched  fist.  "  I  will  not  hear 
another  word  on  the  subject." 

At  this  moment  two  smart  blows 
were  heard  on  the  carefully-bolted 
door. 

The  three  men  started,  and  Red 
Cedar  broke  off. 

"  Shall  I  open  ?"  Andres  asked. 

"Yes."   Fray  Ambrosio  answered: 


102 


THE    TRAIL  HUNTER. 


"  hesitation  or  refusal  might  give  an 
alarm.  We  must  foresee  everything." 
Red  Cedar  consented  with  a  toss  of 
his  head,  and  the  ranchero  went  with 
an  ill  grace  toward  the  door,  which  was 
being  struck  as  if  about  to  be  beaten  in. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE    CUCHILLADA. 

So  soon  as  the  door  was  opened  two 
men  appeared  on  the  threshold.  The 
first  was  Curumilla  ;  the  other,  wrapped 
up  in  a  large  cloak,  and  with  his  broad- 
brimmed  hat  drawn  over  his  eyes,  en 
tered  the  room,  making  the  Indian  chief 
a  sign  to  follow  him.  The  latter  was 
evidently  a  Mexican. 

"Santas  tardes !"  he  said  as  he  raised 
his  hand  to  his  hat,  but  not  removing  it. 

"  Dios  las  de  a  usted  buenas !"  the 
ranchero  answered.  "  What  shall  I 
serve  to  your  excellencies  ?" 

"  A  bottle  of  mezcal,"  the  stranger 
said. 

The  new-comers  seated  themselves  at 
the  end  of  the  room,  at  a  spot  which  the 
light  reached  in  such  a  weakened  state 
that  it  was  almost  dark.  When  they 
were  served  each  poured  out  a  glass  of 
liquor,  which  he  drank ;  and  leaning  his 
head  on  his  hands,  the  Mexican  appeared 
plunged  in  deep  thought,  not  occupying 
himself  the  least  in  the  world  about  the 
persons  near  him. 

CJrumilla  crossed  his  arms  on  his 
chest,  half  closed  his  eyes,  and  remained 
motionless. 

Still  the  arrival  of  these  two  men,  es 
pecially  the  presence  of  the  stranger, 
had  suddenly  frozen  the  eloquence  of 
our  three  friends.  Gloomy  and  silent, 
they  instinctively  felt  that  the  new 
comers  were  enemies,  and  anxiously 
waited  for  what  was  about  to  occur.  At 
length  Red  Cedar,  doubtless  more  im 
patient  than  his  comrades,  and  wishful 
to  know  at  once  what  he  had  to  expect, 
rose,  filled  his  glass,  and  turned  toward 
the  strangers. 

"  Senores  caballeros,"  he  said,  imita 
ting  that  exquisite  politeness  which  the 
Mexicans  possess  in  the  highest  degree, 


"  I  have  the  honor  of  drinking  to  vour 
health." 

At  tins  invitation  Curumilla  remained 
insensible  as  a  granite  statue  :  his  com 
panion  slowly  raised  his  head,  fixed  his 
eye  for  a  moment  on  the  speaker,  and 
answered  in  a  loud  and  firm  voice  : 

"  It  is  needless,  senor,  for  I  shall  not 
drink  to  yours.  What  1  say  to  you," 
he  added,  laying  a  stress  on  the  words, 
"  your  friends  can  also  take  for  them 
selves  if  they  think  proper." 

Fray  Ambrosio  rose  violently. 

"What  do  you  say?"  he  exclaimed 
in  a  threatening  voice.  "  Do  you  mean 
to  insult  me  ?" 

"  There  are  people  whom  a  man  can 
not  mean  to  insult,"  the  stranger  con 
tinued  in  a  cutting  voice.  "  Remember 
this,  senor  padre — 1  do  not  wish  to  have 
any  dealings  with  you." 

"  WThy  so  r 

"  Because  I  do  not  please — that  is  all. 
Now,  gentlemen,  do  not  trouble  your-' 
selves  about  me,  I  beg,  but  continue 
your  conversation  :  it  was  most  in 
teresting  when  I  arrived.  You  were 
speaking,  1  believe,  about  an  expedition 
you  are  preparing  :  there  was  a  ques 
tion  too,  I  fancy,  when  I  entered,  about 
a  girl  your  worthy  friend,  or  partner — • 
I  do  not  know  which  he  is — carried  off 
with  your  assistance.  Do  not  let  me 
disturb  you.  1  should,  on  the  contrary, 
be  delighted  to  learn  what  you  intend 
doing  with  that  unhappy  creature." 

No  words  could  render  the  feeling  of 
stupor  and  terror  which  seized  on  the 
three  partners  at  this  crushing  revela 
tion  of  their  plans.  When  they  fancied 
they  had  completely  concealed  them  by 
their  cunning  and  skill,  to  see  them  thus 
suddenly  unveiled  in  all  their  extent  by 
a  man  whom  they  did  not  know,  but 
who  knew  them,  and  in  consequence 
could  only  be  ah  enemy — this  terrified 
them  to  such  a  degree  that  for  a  mo 
ment  they  fancied  they  had  to  do  with 
the  spirit  of  evil. 

The  two  Mexicans  crossed  themselves 
simultaneously,  while  the  American 
uttered  a  hoarse  exclamation  of  rage. 

But  Red  Cedar  and  Fray  Ambrosio 
were  men  too  hardened  in  iniquity  for 
any  event,  however  grave  hviis  nature, 
to  crush  them  for  long.  The  first  mo- 


THE   TRAIL-HUNTER. 


103 


ment  past,  they  recovered  themselves, 
and  amazement  gave  way  to  fury.  The 
monk  drew  from  his  vaquera  boot  a 
knife,  and  posted  himself  before  the 
door  to  prevent  egress ;  while  Bed 
Cedar,  with  frowning  brow  and  a  ma 
chete  in  his  hand,  advanced  resolutely 
toward  the  table,  behind  which  their 
bold  adversary,  standing  with  folded 
arms,  seemed  to  defy  them  by  his  ironi 
cal  smile. 

"  Whoever  you  may  be,"  Red  Cedar 
said,  stopping  two  paces  from  his  op 
ponent,  "  chance  has  made  you  master 
of  a  secret  that  kills,  and  you  shall 
die." 

"  Do  you  really  believe  that  I  owe  a 
knowledge  of  your  secrets  to  chance?" 
the  other  said  with  a  mocking  accent. 

"  Defend  yourself,"  Red  Cedar  howl 
ed  furiously,  "  If  you  do  not  wish  me 
to  assassinate  you  ;  for,  con  mtidiablos! 
I  shall  not  hesitate,  I  warn  you." 

"  I  know  it,"  the  stranger  replied 
quietly.  "  I  shall  not  be  the  first  per- 
-son  to  whom  that  has  happened:  the 
Sierra  Mad  re  and  El  Bolson  de  Mapimi 
have  often  heard  the  agonising  cries  of 
your  victims,  when  Indians  were  want 
ing  to  fill  up  your  number  of  scalps." 

At  this  allusion  to  his  frightful  trade 
the  squatter  felt  a  livid  pallor  cover  his 
face,  a  tremor  agitated  all  his  limbs, 
and  he  yelled  in  a  choking  voice  : 

"  You  lie  !     I  am  a  hunter." 

"  Of  scalps,"  the  stranger  immediate 
ly  retorted,  "  unless  you  have  given  up 
that  lucrative  and  honorable  profession 
since  your  last  expedition  to  the  village 
of  the"  Coras." 

"  Oh  !"  the  squatter  shouted  with  an 
indescribable  burst  of  fury,  "  he  is  a 
coward  who  hides  his  face  while  utter 
ing  such  words." 

The  stranger  shrugged  his  shoulders 
contemptuously,  and  let  the  folds  of 
•his  mantle  fall  sharply. 

"  Do  you  recognise  me,  Red  Cedar, 
since  your  conscience  has  not  yet  whis 
pered  my  name  to  you?" 

"  Oh !"  the  three  men  exclaimed  in 
horror,  and  instinctively  recoiling 
"  Don  Pablo  de  Zarate  !" 

"  Yes,"  the  young  man  continued, 
"  Don  Pablo,  who  has  come,  Red  Cedar, 


to  ask  of  you  an  account  of  his  sister, 
whom  you  carried  off.'' 

Red  Cedar  was  in  a  state  of  extraor 
dinary  agitation  :  with  eyes  dilated  by 
terror,  and  contracted  features,  he  felt 
the  cold  perspiration  beading  on  his 
temples  at  this  unexpected  apparition. 

"  Ah !"  he  said  in  a  hollow  voice, 
"do  the  dead,  then,  leave  the  tomb  ?" 

"  Yes,"  the  young  man  shouted  loud 
ly,  "  they  leave  their  tomb  to  tear  your 
victims  from  you.  Red  Cedar,  restore 
me  my  sister !" 

The  squatter  leaped  like  a  hyena  on 
the  young  man,  brandishing  his  machete. 

"  Dog !"  he  yelled,  "  I  will  kill  you  a 
second  time." 

But  his  wrist  was  suddenly  seized  by 
a  hand  of  iron,  and  the  bandit  tottered 
back  to  the  wall  of  the  rancho,  against 
which  he  was  forced  to  lean,  lest  he 
should  roll  on  the  ground. 

Curumilla,  who  had  hitherto  remained 
an  impassive  witness  of  the  scene  that 
took  piace  before  him,  had  thought  the 
moment  for  interference  had  arrived, 
aiii'l  had  sharply  hurled  him  back. 

The  squatter,  with  eyes  injected  with 
blood,  and  lips  clenched  by  rage,  looked 
around  him  with  glaring  worthy  of  a 
wild  beast. 

Fray  Ambrosio  and  the  ranchero, 
held  in  check  by  the  Indian  chief,  did 
not  dare  to  interfere. 

Don  Pablo  walked  with  slow  and 
measured  step  toward  the  bandit. 
When  he  was  ten  paces  from  him  he 
stopped,  and  looked  fixedly  at  him. 

"  Red  Cedar,"  he  repeated  in  a  calm 
voice,  "  give  me  back  my  sister." 

"  Never !"  the  squatter  answered  in 
a  voice  choked  by  rage. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  monk  and  the 
ranchero  had  treacherously  approached 
the  young  man,  watching  for  the  propi 
tious  moment  to  fall  on  him.  The  five 
men  assembled  in  this  room  offered  a 
strange  and  sinister  scene  by  the  uncer 
tain  light  that  filtered  through  the  win 
dows,  as  each  stood  with  his  hand  on 
his  weapon,  ready  to  kill  or  be  killed, 
and  only  awaiting  the  opportunity  to 
rush  on  his  enemy. 

There  was  a  moment  of  supreme  si 
lence. 


104 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


Assuredly  these  men  were  brave.  In 
many  circumstances  they  had  seen  death 
under  every  aspect ;  and  yet  their  hearts 
beat  as  if  to  burst  their  breasts,  for 
they  knew  that  the  combat  about  to 
commence  between  them  was  without 
truce  or  mercy. 

At  length  Don  Pablo  spoke  again. 

"  Take  care,  Red  Cedar,"  he  said.  "  I 
have  come  to  meet  you  alone  and 
honorably.  I  have  asked  you  for  my 
sister  several  times,  and  you  have  not 
answered  ;  so  take  care." 

"  I  will  sell  your  sister  to  the  Apa 
ches  !''  the  squatter  howled.  "  As  for 
you,  accursed  one,  you  shall  not  leave 
this  room  alive.  May  I  be  eternally 
condemned  if  your  heart  does  not  serve 
as  a  sheath  to  my  knife !" 

"The  scoundrel  is  mad !"  the  young 
man  said  contemptuously. 

He  fell  back  a  pace,  and  then  stopped. 

"  Listen,"  he  continued.  "  I  will 
now  retire,  but  we  shall  meet  again ; 
and  woe  to  you  then,  for  I  shall  be  as 
pitiless  to  you  as  you  have  been  to  me. 
Farewell !" 

"  Oh  !  you  shall  not  go  in  that  way, 
my  master,"  replied  the  squatter,  who 
had  regained  all  his  boldness  and  impu 
dence.  "  Did  I  not  tell  you  I  would 
kill  you?" 

The  young  man  fixed  upon  him  a 
glance  of  undefinable  expression,  and 
crossed  his  arms  boldly  on  his  chest. 

"  Try  it,"  he  said  in  a  voice  rendered 
harsh  by  the  fury  boiling  in  his  heart. 

Red  Cedar  uttered  a  yell  of  rage, 
and  bounded  on  Don  Pablo. 

The  latter  calmly  awaited  the  attack ; 
but,  so  soon  as  the  squatter  was  within 
reach  he  suddenly  took  off  his  mantle, 
and  threw  it  over  his  enemy's  head, 
who,  blinded  by  the  folds  of  the  thick 
garment,  rolled  about  on  the  ground, 
unable  to  free  himself  from  the  accursed 
cloth  that  held  him  like  a  net.  With 
one  bound  the  young  man  was  over  the 
table,  and  troubling  himself  no  further 
about  Red  Cedar,  proceeded  toward  the 
door. 

At  this  moment  Fray  Ambrosio 
rushed  upon  him,  trying  to  bury  his 
knife  in  his  chest.  Feeling  not  the 
slightest  alarm,  Don  Pablo  seized  his 
assailant's  wrist,  and  with  a  strength  he 


was  far  from  anticipating,  twisted  his 
arm  so  violently  that  his  fingers  open 
ed,  and  he  let  the  knife  fall  with  a  yell 
of  pain. 

Don  Pablo  picked  it  up,  and  seized 
the  monk  by  the  throat. 

"  Listen,  villain !"  he  said  to  him. 
"  I  am  master  of  your  life.  You  be 
trayed  my  father,  who  took  pity  on 
you,  and  received  you  into  his  house. 
You  dishonor  the  gown  you  wear  by^ 
your  connection  with  criminals,  whose 
ill  deeds  you  share  in.  I  could  kill  you, 
and  perhaps  ought  to  do  so ;  but  it 
would  be  robbing  the  executioner  to 
whom  you  belong,  and  cheating  the 
garotte  which  awaits  you.  This  gown, 
of  which  you  are  unworthy,  saves  your 
your  life ;  but  I  will  mark  you  so  that 
you  shall  never  forget  me." 

And  placing  the  point  of  the  knife  on 
the  monk's  livid  face,  he  made  two 
gashes  in  the  shape  of  a  cross  along  the 
whole  lensth  and  breadth  of  his  face. 

"  We  shall  meet  again!"  he  added  in 
a  thundering  voice,  as  he  threw  the 
knife  away  in  disgust. 

Andres  Garote  had  not  dared  to 
make  a  move  :  terror  nailed  him  mo 
tionless  to  the  ground  beneath  the  im 
placable  eye  of  the  Indian  warrior. 

Don  Pablo  and  Curumilla  then  rush 
ed  from  the  room  and  disappeared,  and 
ere  long  the  hoofs  of  two  horses  de 
parting  at  full  speed  from  the  town 
could  be  heard  clattering  over  the  pave 
ment. 

By  the  aid  of  the  ranchero,  Red 
Cedar  presently  succeeded  in  freeing 
himself  from  the  fold  of  the  cloak  that 
embarrassed  him.  When  the  three 
accomplices  found  themselves  alone 
again  an  expression  of  impotent  rage 
and  deadly  hatred  distorted  their  faces. 

"  Oh  !"  the  squatter  muttered,  grind 
ing  his  teeth,  and  raising  his  fist  to 
heaven,  "I  will  be  revenged." 

"  And  I  too,"  said  Fray  Ambrosio  in 
a  hollow  voicef  as  he  wiped  away  the 
blood  that  stained  his  face. 

"  Hum  !  I  do  not  care,"  Andres  Ga 
rote  said  to  himself  aside.  "  That  fam 
ily  of  the  Zarates  is  a  fine  one  ;  but, 
carai  I  it  must  be  confessed  that  Don 
Pablo  is  a  rough  fellow." 

The  worthy  ranchero  was   the   only 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


105 


one  chance  had  favored  in  this  meeting 
by  letting  him  escape  safe  and  sound. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

THE  HUNTERS. 

AT  about  two  leagues  from  Santa  Fe, 
in  a  clearing  situated  on  the  banks  of 
the  stream  which  borders  that  town,  and 
on  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  a  man 
was  seated  before  a  large  fire,  which  he 
carefully  kept  up,  while  actively  en 
gaged  in  making  preparations  for  sup 
per.  A  frugal  meal,  at  any  rate,  this 
supper  !  It  was  composed  of  a  buffalo 
hump,  a  few  potatoes,  and  maize  tortil 
las  baked  on  the  ashes,  the  whole  wash 
ed  down  with  pulque. 

The  night  was  gloomy.  Heavy  black 
clouds  coursed  athwart  the  sky,  at  times 
intercepting  the  sickly  rays  of  the 
moon,  which  only  shed  an  uncertain 
light  over  the  landscape,  which  was  it 
self  buried  in  one  of  those  dense  mists 
that,  in  equatorial  countries,  exhale 
from  the  ground  after  a  hot  day.  The 
wind  blew  violently  through  the  trees, 
whose  branches  came  in  contact,  with 
plaintive  moans:  and  in  the  depths  of 
the  woods  the  miawling  of  the  wild  cats 
was  mingled  with  the  snarl  of  the  coyo 
tes  and  the  howls  of  the  pumas  and 
jaguars. 

All  at  once  the  sound  of  galloping 
horses  could  be  heard  in  the  forest,  and 
two  riders  burst  into  the  clearing.  On 
seeing  them  the  hunter  uttered  an  ex 
clamation  of  joy,  and  hurried  to  meet 
them. 

They  were  Don  Pablo  and  Curum- 
illa. 

"  Heaven  be  praised !"  the  hunter 
said.  "  Here  you  are  at  last.  I  was 
beginning  to  grow  alarmed  at  your  long 
absence." 

"  You  see  that  nothing  has  happened 
to  me,"  the  young  man  answered,  affec 
tionately  pressing  the  hunter's  hands. 

Don  Pablo  had  dismounted,  and  hob 
bled  his  own  horse  and  Curumilla's 
near  Valentine,  while  the  Indian  chief 
busied  himself  in  preparing  the  supper. 

"  Come,  come,"  the  hunter  said  gaily, 


"  to  table.  You  must  be  hungry,  and  I 
am  dying  of  inanition.  You  can  tell 
me  all  that  has  occurred  while  we  are 
eating." 

The  three  men  went  to  the  table  ; 
that  is,  they  seated  themselves  on  the 
grass  in  front  of  the  fire,  and  vigorous 
ly  assailed  their  meagre  repast.  Desert 
life  has  this  peculiarity — that  in  what 
ever  position  you  may  find  yourself,  as 
the  struggles  you  go  through  are  gener 
ally  physical  rather  than  moral,  nature 
never  resigns  her  claims  :  you  feel  the 
need  of  keeping  up  your  strength,  so  as 
to  be  ready  for  all  eventualities.  There 
is  no  alarm  great  enough  to  prevent 
you  from  eating  and  drinking. 

"  Now,"  Valentine  asked  presently, 
"  what  have  you  done  1  I  fancy  you 
remained  much  longer  than  was  neces 
sary  in  that  accursed  town." 

"  We  did,  my  friend.  Certain  rea 
sons  forced  me  to  remain  longer  than  I 
had  at  first  intended." 

"  Proceed  in  regular  order,  if  you 
have  no  objection.  I  fancy  that  is  the 
only  way  of  understanding  each  other." 

"  Act  as  you  please,  my  friend." 

"Very  good:  the  chief  and  I  will 
light  our  Indian  pipes  while  you  make 
your  cigarette.  We  will  sit  with  our 
backs  to  the  fire,  so  as  to  watch  the 
neighborhood,  and  in  that  way  can  con 
verse  without  apprehension.  What  do 
you  say,  Pablo  ?" 

"  You  are  always  right,  my  friend. 
Your  inexhaustible  gaiety,  your  honest 
iarelessness,  restore  me  all  my  courage, 
and  make  me  quite  a  different  man." 

"  Hum !"  Valentine  said,  "  I  am 
»lad  to  hear  you  speak  so.  The  posi 
tion  is  serious,  it  is  true  ;  but  it  is  far 
from  being  desperate.  The  chief  and  I 
have  many  times  been  in  situations 
were  our  lives  only  depended  on  a 
thread  :  and  yet  we  always  emerged 
from  them  honorably  —  did  we  not, 
hief?" 

"  Yes,"  the  Indian  answered  laconi 
cally,  drawing  in  a  mouthful  of  smoke, 
which  he  sent  forth  again  from  his 
mouth  and  nostrils. 

"  But  that  is  not  the  question  of  the 
moment.  I  have  sworn  to  save  your 
lather  and  sister,  Pablo,  and  will  do  so, 
or  my  carcass  shall  be  food  for  the 


106 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER/ 


wild  beasts  of  the  prairie ;  so  leave  me 
to  act.  Have  you  seen  Father  Sera- 
phin  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  have.  Our  poor  friend  is 
still  very  weak  and  pale,  and  his  wound 
is  scarce  cicatrised.  Still,  paying  no 
heed  to  his  sufferings,  and  deriving 
strength  from  his  unbounded  devotion 
to  humanity,  he  has  done  all  we  agreed 
on.  For  the  last  week  he  has  only  left 
my  father  to  hasten  to  his  judges.  He 
has  seen  the  general,  the  governor,  the 
bishop — everybody,  in  short — and  has 
neglected  nothing.  Unfortunately  all 
his  exertions  have  hitherto  been  fruit 
less." 

"  Patience  !"  the  hunter  said  with  a 
smile  of  singular  meaning. 

"  Father  iSeraphin  believes  for  cer 
tain  that  my  father  will  be  placed  in 
the  capilla  within  two  days.  The  gov 
ernor  wishes  to  have  done  with  it — 
that  is  the  expression  he  employed ; 
and  Father  Seraphin  told  me  that  we 
have  not  a  moment  to  lose." 

"  Two  days  are  a  long  time,  my 
friend  ;  before  they  have  elapsed  many 
things  may  have  occurred." 

"That  is  true ;  but  my  father's  life 
is  at  stake,  and  1  feel  timid." 

"  Good,  Don  Pablo ;  I  like  to  hear 
you  speak  so.  But  reassure  yourself; 
all  is  going  on  well,  I  repeat." 

"Still,  my  friend,  I  believe  it  would 
be  wise  to  take  certain  precautions. 
Remember  it  is  a  question  of  life  or 
death,  and  we  must  make  haste.  How 
many  times,  under  similar  circumstan 
ces,  have  the  best  arranged  plans  failed! 
Do  you  think  that  your  measures  are 
well  taken  ?  Do  you  not  fear  lest  an 
unhappy  accident  may  derange  all  your 
plans  at  the  decisive  moment  ?" 

"  We  are  playing  at  this  moment  the 
devil's  own  game,  my  friend,"  Valentine 
answered  culdly.  "  We  have  chance 
on  our  side  ;  that  is  to  say,  the  great 
est  power  that  exists,  and  which  governs 
the  world." 

The  young  man  lowered  his  head,  as 
if  but  slightly  convinced.  The  hunter 
regarded  him  for  a  moment  with  a  mix 
ture  of  interest  and  tender  pity,  and 
then  continued  in  a  soothing  voice : 

"  Listen,  Don  Pablo  de  Zarate,"  he 
said.  "  I  have  suid  that  I  will  save 


your  father,  and  mean  to  do  so.  Still 
I  wish  him  to  leave  the  prison  in  which 
he  now  is,  like  a  man  of  his  character 
ought  to  leave  it,  in  open  day,  greeted 
by  the  applause  of  the  crowd,  and  not 
by  escaping  furtively  during  the  night, 
like  a  vile  criminal.  Hang  it  all  !  Do 
you  think  it  would  have  been  difficult 
for  me  to  enter  the  town,  and  effect 
your  father's  escape  by  filing  the  bars 
or  bribing  the  jailer]  I  would  not  do 
it.  Don  Miguel  would  not  have  ac 
cepted  that  cowardly  and  shameful 
flight.  Your  father  shall  leave  his  pri 
son,  but  begged  to  do  so  by  the  gover 
nor  himself,  and  all  the  authorities  of 
Santa  Fe.  So  regain  your  courage, 
and  no  longer  doubt  a  man  whose 
friendship  and  expi  rience  should,  on  the 
contrary,  restore  your  confidence." 

The  young  man  had  listened  to 
these  words  with  even  increasing  in 
terest.  When  Valentine  ceased  speak 
ing  he  seized  his  hand. 

"  Pardon  me,  my  friend,"  he  answer 
ed  him.  "  1  know  how  devoted  you 
are  to  my  family ;  but  I  suffer,  and 
grief  renders  me  unjust.  Forgive  me/' 

"  Child,  let  us  forget  it  all.  Was  the 
town  quiet  to-day  ?" 

"  1  cannot  tell  you,  for  I  was  so  ob- 
sorbed  in  thought  that  I  saw  nothing  go 
ing  on  around  me.  Still  I  fancy  there 
was  a  certain  agitation,  which  was  not 
natural,  on  the  Plaza  Mayor,  near  the 
governor's  palace." 

Valentine  indulged  once  again  in  that 
strange  smile  that  had  already  played 
round  the  corners  of  his  delicate  lips. 

"  Good  1"  he  said.  "  And  did  you, 
as  I  advised,  try  to  gain  any  informa 
tion  about  Red  Cedar  '*" 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  with  a  start  of 
joy,  "  I  did ;  and  I  have  positive 
news." 

"  Ah,  ah  !     How  so  ?" 

"  I  will  tell  you." 

And  Don  Pablo  described  the  scene 
that  had  taken  place  in  the  rancho. 

The  hunter  listened  to  it  with  the  ut 
most  attention,  and  when  it  was  finish 
ed  he  tossed  his  head  several  times  with 
an  air  of  dissatisfaction. 

"  All  young  people  are  so,"  he  mut 
tered  :  *'  they  always  allow  their  pas 
sion  to  carry  them  beyond  the  bounds 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


107 


of  reason.  You  were  wrong,  extreme 
ly  wrong,  Don  Pablo,"  he  then  added. 
"  Red  Cedar  believed  you  dead,  and 
that  might  have  been  of  great  use  to  us 
presently.  You  do  not  know  -the  im 
mense  power  that  demon  has  at  his  dis 
posal  :  all  the  bandits  on  the  frontier 
are  devoted  to  him.  Your  outbreak 
will  be  most  injurious  to  your  sister's 
safety." 

"  Still,  my  friend " 

"  You  acted  like  a  madman  in  arous 
ing  the  slumbering  fury  of  the  tiger. 
Red  Cedar  will  persist  in  destroying 
you.  I  have  known  the  wretch  for  a 
long  time.  But  that  is  not  the  worst 
you  have  done." 

"  What  is  it,  then  ?" 

"  Why,  madman  as  you  are,  instead 
of  keeping  dark,  watching  your  ene 
mies  without  saying  a  word — in  short, 
seeing  through  their  game — by  an  un 
pardonable  act  of  bravado  you  have 
unmasked  all  your  batteries." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  my 
friend." 

"Fray  Ambrosio  is  a  villain  of  a  dif 
ferent  stamp  from  Red  Cedar,  it  is 
true ;  but  I  consider  him  even  a  great 
er  scoundrel  than  the  scalp-hunter.  At 
any  rate,  the  latter  is  purely  a  rogue, 
and  you  know  what  to  expect  from 
him  :  all  about  him  bears  the  stamp  of 
his  hideous  soul.  Had  you  stabbed 
that  wild  beast,  who  perspires  blood  by 
every  pore,  and  dreams  of  naught  but 
murder,  I  might  possibly  have  pardon 
ed  you ;  but  you  have  completely  fail 
ed,  not  only  in  prudence,  but  in  good 
sense,  by  acting  as  you  have  done  with 
Fray  Ambrosio.  That  man  is  a  hypo 
crite.  He  owes  a,ll  to  your  family,  and 
is  furious  at  seeing  this,  treachery  dis 
covered.  Take  care,  Don  Pablo.  You 
have  made  at  one  blow  two  implacable 
enemies,  the  more  terrible  now  because 
they  have  nothing  to  guard  against." 

"  It  is  true,"  the  young  man  said  ; 
"I  acted  like  a  fool.  But  what  would 
you  ?  At  the  sight  of  those  two  men, 
when  1  heard  from  their  very  lips  the 
crimes  they  had  committed,  and  those 
they  still  meditate  against  us,  I  was  no 
longer  master  of  myself.  I  entered 
the  rancho,  and  you  know  the  rest." 

"  Yes,  yes,  the  cuchillada  was  a  fine 


one.  Certainly  the  bandit  deserved  it; 
but  I  fear  lest  the  cross  you  so  smartly 
drew  on  his  face  will  cost  you  dearly 
some  day." 

"  Well,  let  us  leave  it  in  the  hand  of 
Heaven.  You  know  the  proverb,  '  It 
is  better  to  forget  what  cannot  be  reme 
died.'  Provided  my  father  escape  the 
fate  that  menaces  him,  I  shall  be  happy. 
I  shall  take  my  precautions  to  defend 
myself." 

"  Did  you  learn  nothing  further  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  Red  Cedar's  gambusinos  are 
encamped  a  short  distance  from  us.  I 
know  that  their  chief  intends  starting 
to-morrow  at  the  latest." 

"  Oh,  oh  !  already  ?  We  must  make 
haste  and  prepare  our  ambuscad<>,  if  we 
wish  to  discover  the  road  thev  mean  to 
follow." 

"  When  shall  we  start  ?" 

"  At  once." 

The  three  men  made  their  prepara 
tions  ;  the  horses  were  saddled,  the 
small  skins  the  horseman  always  car 
ries  at  his  saddle-bow  in  these  dry 
countries  were  filled  with  water,  and 
five  minutes  later  the  hunters  mounted. 
At  the  moment  they  were  leaving  the 
clearing  a  rustling  of  leaves  was  heard, 
the  branches  parted,  and  an  Indian  ap 
peared. 

It  was  Unicorn,  the  great  sachem  of 
the  Comanches. 

On  seeing  him  the  three  men  dis 
mounted  and  waited. 

Valentine  advanced  alone  to  meet  the 
Indian. 

"  My  brother  is  welcome,"  he  said. 
"  What  does  he  want  of  me  ?" 

"  To  see  the  face  of  a  friend,"  the 
chief  answered  in  a  gentle  voice. 

The  two  men  then  bowed  after  the 
fashion  of  the  prairie.  After  this  cere 
mony  Valentine  went  on  : 

"  My  father  must  approach  the  firp, 
and  smoke  from  the  calumet  of  his 
white  friends." 

"  I  will  do  so,"  Unicorn  answered. 

And  drawing  near  the  fire,  he  crouch 
ed  down  in  Indian  fashion,  took  his  pipe 
from  his  belt,  and  smoked  in  silence. 

The  hunters,  seeing  the  turn  this  un 
expected  interview  was  taking,  had 
fastened  up  their  horses,  and  seated 
themselves  again  round  the  fire.  A  few 


108 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


minutes  passed  thus,  no  one  speaking 
each  waiting  till  the  Indian  chief  shouk 
explain  the  motive  of  his  coming.  A 
length  Unicorn  shook  the  ashes  from  his 
calumet,  returned  it  to  his  belt,  and  ad 
dressed  Valentine. 

"  Is  my  brother  setting  out  to  hunt 
buffaloes  again  ?"  he  said.  "  There  are 
many  this  year  on  the  prairies  of  the 
Rio  Gil  a." 

"  Yes,"  the  Frenchman  replied,  "  we 
are  going  hunting.  Does  my  brother 
intend  to  accompany  us  ?" 

"No;  my  heart  is  sad. 

"  What  means  the  chief?  Has  any 
misfortune  happened  to  him1?" 

"  Does  not  my  brother  understand 
me,  or  arn  I  really  mistaken?  It  is 
that  my  brother  only  really  loves  the 
buffaloes,  whose  meat  he  eats,  and 
whose  hides  he  sells  at  the  tolderia  ?" 
•  "  Let  my  brother  explain  himself 
more  clearly ;  then  I  will  try  to  an 
swer  him." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence. 

The  Indian  seemed  to  be  reflecting 
deeply  :  his  nostrils  were  dilated,  and 
at  times  his  black  eye  flashed  fire.  The 
hunters  calmly  awaited  the  issue  of 
this  conversation,  whose  object  they  had 
not  yet  caught.  At  length  Unicorn 
raised  his  head,  restored  all  the  serenity 
to  his  glance,  and  said  in  a  soft  and 
melodious  voice  : 

"  Why  pretend  not  to  understand  me, 
Koutonepi  ?  A  warrior  must  not  have 
a  forked  tongue.  What  a  man  cannot 
do  alone,  two  can  attempt  and  carry 
out.  Let  my  brother  speak  :  the  ears 
of  a  friend  are  open." 

"  My  brother  is  right.  I  will  not  de 
ceive  his  expectations.  The  hunt  I  wish 
to  make  is  serious.  I  am  anxious  to 
save  a  woman  of  my  color  ;  but  what 
can  the  will  of  one  man  effect  ?" 

"  Koutonepi  is  not  alone  :  1  see  at  his 
side  the  best  two  rifles  of  the  frontier. 
VV  hat  does  the  white  hunter  tell  me  ? 
Is  he  no  longer  the  great  warrior  I 
knew  ?  Does  he  doubt  the  friendship 
of  his  brother  Haboutzelze,  the  great 
sachem  of  the  Comanches  ?" 

"  I  never  doubted  the  friendship  of 
my  brother.  I  am  an  adopted  son  of 
his  nation.  At  this  very  moment  is  he 
not  seeking  to  do  me  a  service  ?" 


"  That  service  is  only  half  what  I 
wish  to  do.  Let  my  brother  speak  the 
word,  and  two  hundred  Comanche  war 
riors  shall  join  him  to  deliver  the  virgin 
of  the  palefaces,  and  take  the  scalps  of 
her  ravishers." 

Valentine  started  with  joy  at  this 
noble  offer. 

"  Thanks,  chief,"  he  said  eagerly. 
"  I  accept ;  and  I  know  that  your  word 
is  sacred." 

"  Michabou  protects  us,"  the  Indian 
said.  "  My  brother  can  count  on  me. 
A  chief  does  not  forget  a  service.  I 
owe  obligations  to  the  pale  hunter,  and 
will  deliver  to  him  the  gachupino  rob 
bers." 

"  Here  is  my  hand,  chief:  my  heart 
has  long  been  yours." 

"  My  brother  speaks  well.  I  have 
done  what  he  requested  of  me." 

And,  bowing  courteously,  the  Co 
manche  chief  withdrew  without  adding 
a  word. 

"  Don  Pablo,"  Valentine  exclaimed 
joyously,  "I  can  now  guarantee  your 
father's  safety  :  this  night — perhaps  to 
morrow — he  will  be  free." 

Tlie  young  man  fell  into  the  hunter's 
arms,  and  hid  his  head  on  his  honest 
chest,  not  having  the  strength  to  utter 
a  wo  r.  A  few  minutes  later,  the  hun 
ters  left  the  clearing  to  go  in  search  of 
the  gambusinos,  and  prepare  their  am 
buscade. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

SUNBEAM. 

WE  will  now  go  a  little  way  back,  in 
order  to  clear  up  certain  portions  of  the 
onversation    between    Valentine    and 
Jnicorn,  whose  meaning  the  reader  can 
not  have  caught. 

Only  a  few  months  after  their  arrival 
n  Apacheria  the  Frenchman  and  Curu- 
tnilla  were  hunting  the  buffalo  on  the 
>anks  of  the  Rio  Gila.  It  was  a  splen 
did  day  in  the  month  of  July. 

The  two  hunters,  fatigued  by  a  long 
march  under  the  beams  of  the  parching 
sun,  that  fell  vertically  on  their  heads, 
lad  sheltered  themselves  under  a  clump 
of  cedar-wood  trees,  and,  carelessly 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


109 


stretched  out  on  the  ground,  were 
smoking  while  waiting  till  the  grea 
heat  had  passed,  and  the  evening  breezi 
rose  to  enable  them  to  continue  their 
hunt.  A  quarter  of  elk  was  roasting 
fur  tlieir  dinner. 

"  Eh,  penni  /"  Valentine  said,  ad 
dressing  liis  comrade,  and  risirfg  on  his 
elbow,  "  the  dinner  seems  to  be  ready  ; 
so  suppose  we  feed  ?  The  sun  is  rapidly 
sinking  behind  the  virgin  forest,  and 
we  shall  soon  have  to  start  again." 
"  Eat,"  Curumilla  answered,  sharply. 
The  meat  was  laid  on  a  leaf  between 
the  two  hunters,  who  began  eating  with 
good  appetite,  and  indulging  in  cakes 
of  hautie.  These  cakes,  which  are  very 
good,  are  certainly  curious.  They  are 
made  of  the  pounded  eggs  of  a  species 
of  water-bug,  collected  by  a  sort  of  har 
vest  in  the  Mexican  lakes.  They  are 
found  on  the  leaves  of  the  toule  (bul 
rush),  and  the  farina  is  prepared  in  va 
rious  ways.  Jt  is  an  Aztec  preparation 
par  excellence,  for  so  long  back  as  1625 
they  were  sold  on  the  market-place  of 
the  Mexican  capital.  They  form  the 
.chief  fuod  of  the  Indians,  who  consider 
tliem  as  great  a  dainty  as  the  Chinese 
do  their  swallow  nests,  with  which  this 
article  of  food  has  a  certain  resemblance 
in  taste. 

Valentine  had  taken  a  third  bite  at 
his  hautle  cake  when,  he  stopped,  with 
his  arm  raised  and  his  head  bent  for 
ward,  as  if  an  unusual  sound  had  sud 
denly  smitten  his  ear. 

Curumilla  imitated  his  friend,  and 
both  listened  with  that  deep  attention 
that  only  results  from  a  lengihened  de 
sert  life;  for  on  the  prairie  every 
sound  is  suspicious — every  meeting  is 
feared,  especially  with  man. 

Some  time  elapsed  ere  the  noise 
•which  startled  the  hunters  was  repeat 
ed.  For  a  moment  they  fancied  them 
selves  deceived,  and  Valentine  took  an 
other  bite,  when  he  was  again  checked. 
This  time  he  had  distinctly  heard  a 
sound  resembling  a  stifled  sigh,  but  so 
weak  and  hollow  that  it  needed  the 
Trail-hunter's  practised  ear  to  catch  it. 
Curumilla  himself  had  perceived 
nothing.  He  looked  at  his  friend  in 
amazement,  not  knowing  to  what  he 
should  attribute  his  state  of  agitation. 
7. 


Valentine  rose  hurriedly,  seized  his 
rifle,  and  rushed  in  the  direction  of  the 
river,  his  friend  following  him  in  all 
haste. 

It  was  from  the  river,  in  fact,  that 
the  sigh  heard  by  Valentine  had  come, 
and  fortunately  it  was  but  a  few  paces 
distant.  So  soon  as  the  hunters  had 
leaped  over  the  intervening  bushes  they 
found  themselves  on  the  bank,  and  a 
fearful  sight  presented  itself  to  their 
startled  eyes. 

A  long  plank  was  descending  the 
river,  turning  on  its  axis,  and  borne  by 
the  current,  which  ran  rather  strongly 
at  this  point.  On  this  plank  was  fas 
tened  a  woman,  who  held  a  child  in  her 
clasped  arms.  Each  time  the  plank 
revolved  the  unhappy  woman  plunged 
with  her  child  into  the  stream,  and  at 
ten  yards  at  the  most  from  it  an  enor 
mous  cayman  was  swimming  vigorous 
ly  to  snap  at  its  two  victims. 

Valentine  raised  his  rifle. 

Curumilla  at  the  same  moment  glid 
ed  into  the  water,  holding  his  knife- 
blade  between  his  teeth,  and  swam  to 
ward  the  plank. 

Valentine  remained  for  a  few  seconds 
motionless,  as  if  changed  into  a  block 
of  marble.  All  at  once  he  pulled  the 
trigger,  and  the  discharge  was  re-echoed 
by  the  distant  mountains.  The  cayman 
leaped  out  of  the  water,  and  plunged 
down  again  ;  but  it  reappeared  a  mo 
ment  later,  belly  upwards.  It  was 
dead.  Valentine's  bullet  had  passed 
through  its  eye. 

In  the  meanwhile  Curumilla  had 
reached  the  plank  with  a  few  strokes, 
without  loss  of  time  he  turned  it  in  the 
opposite  direction  from  what  it  was 
following  ;  and  while  holding  it  so  that 
t  could  not  revolve,  he  pushed  it  01.  to 
the  sand.  In  two  strokes  he  cut  the 
jonds  that  held  the  hapless  woman, 
seized  her  in  his  arms,  and  ran  off  with 
iar  to  the  bivouac  fire. 

The  poor  woman  gave  no  signs  of 
ife,  and  the  two  hunters  eagerly  sought 
to  restore  her.  She  was  an  Indian,  ap- 
jarently  not  more  than  eighteen,  and 
very  beautiful. 

Valentine  found  great  difficulty  in 
oosening  her  arms  and  removing  the 
jaby ;  for  the  frail  creature  about  a 


no 


THE    TRATL-HUXTER. 


year  old,  by  an  incomprehensible  mira 
cle,  had  been  preserved — thanks,  doubt 
less  to  its  mother's  devotion.  It  smiled 
pleasantly  at  the  hunter  when  he  laid 
it  on  a  bed  of  dry  leaves. 

Curumilla  opened  the  woman's 
mouth  slightly  with  his  knife-blade, 
placed  in  it  the  mouth  of  his  gourd,  and 
made  her  swallow  a  few  drops  of  mez- 
cal. 

A  long  time  elapsed  ere  she  gave  the 
slightest  move  that  indicated  an  ap 
proaching  return  to  life.  The  hunters, 
however,  would  not  be  foiled  by  the  ill- 
success  of  their  attentions,  but  redoub 
led  their  efforts.  At  length  a  deep  sigh 
burst  painfully  from  the  sufferer's  op 
pressed  chest,  and  she  opened  her  eyes, 
murmuring  in  a  voice  weak  as  a  breath! 

«  Xocoyotl  (My  child  !") 

The  cry  of  the  soul — this  first  and 
supreme  appeal  of  a  mother  on  the 
verge  of  the  tomb — affected  the  two 
men  with  their  hearts  of  bronze.  Val 
entine  cautiously  lifted  the  child,  which 
had  gone  to  sleep  peacefully  on  the 
leaves,  and  presented  it  to  the  mother, 
saying  in  a  soft  voice  : 

"Nantlijoltinemi  (Mother,  he  lives.)/" 

At  these  words,  which  restored  her 
hope,  the  woman  leaped  up  as  if  moved 
by  a  spring,  seized  the  child,  and  cover 
ed  it  with  kisses,  as  she  burst  into  tears. 
The  hunters  respected  this  outpouring  of 
maternal  love  :  they  withdrew,  leavin^ 
food  and  water  by  the  woman's  side. 

At  sunset  the  two  men  returned. 

The  woman  was  squatting  by  the  fire, 
nursing  her  child,  and  lulling  it  to  sleep 
.by  singing  an  Indian  song.  The  night 
passed  tranquilly,  the  two  hunters 
watching  in  turn  over  the  slumbers  of 
the  woman  they  had  saved,  and  who 
reposed  in  peace. 

At  sunrise  she  awoke ;  and,  with  the 
skill  and  handiness  peculiar  to  the 
women  of  her  race,  she  rekindled  the 
fire  and  .prepared  breakfast.  The  two 
men  looked  at  her  with  a  smile,  then 
threw  their  rifles  over  their  shoulders, 
and  set  out  .in  search  of  game.  When 
they  returned  to  the  bivouac  the  meal 
was  ready.  After  .eating,  Valentine  lit 
his  Indian  ,pipe,  seated  himself  at  the 
foot  of  a  ,tree,.aud  addressed  the  young 
woman. 


"What  is  my  sister's  name?"  he 
asked. 

"  Tonameyotl  (the  Sunbeam),"  she 
replied,  with  a  joyous  smile  that  reveal 
ed  the  double  row  of  pearls  that  adorn 
ed  her  mouth. 

"My  sister  has  a  pretty  name," 
Valentine  answered.  "She  doubtless 
belongs  to  the  great  nation  of  the  Apa 
ches  f 

"  The  Apaches  are  dogs,"  she  said  in 
a  hollow  voice,  and  with  a  flash  of 
hatred  in  her  glance.  "  The  Comanche 
women  will  weave  them  petticoats. 
The  Apaches  are  cowardly  as  the 
coyotes:  they  only  fight  a  hundred 
against  one.  The  Comanche  warriors 
are  like  the  tempest." 

"  Is  my  sister  the  wife  of  a  ca 
cique]" 

"  Where  is  the  warrior  who  does  not 
know  Unicorn  ?"  she  said  proudly. 

Valentine  bowed.  He  had  already 
heard  the  name  of  this  terrible  chief 
pronounced  several  times.  Mexicans 
and  Indians,  trappers,  hunters,  and 
warriors,  all  felt  for  him  a  respect 
mingled  with  terror. 

"  Sunbeam  is  Unicorn's  wife,"  the 
Indian  girl  continued. 

"  Good  !"  Valentine  answered.  "  My 
sister  will  tell  me  where  to  find  the  vil 
lage  of  her  tribe,  and  I  will  lead  her 
back  to  the  chief." 

The  young  woman  smiled. 

"  1  have  in  my  heart  a  small  bird 
that  sings  at  every  instant  of  the 
day,"  she  said  in  her  gentle  and 
melodious  voice.  "The  swallow  can 
not  live  without  its  mate,  and  the  chief 
is  on  the  trail  of  Sunbeam." 

"  We  will  wait  the  chief  here,  then," 
Valentine  said. 

The  hunter  felt  great  pleasure  in  con 
versing  with  this  simple  child. 

"  How  was  my  sister  thus  fastened 
to  the  trunk  of  tree,  and  thrown  into  the 
current  of  the  Gila,  to  perish  there 
with  her  child?  It  is  an  atrocious  ven 
geance." 

"  Yes,  it  is  the  vengeance  of  an  Apa 
che  dog,"  she  answered.  ''  Aztatl  (the 
Heron),  daughter  of  Stanapat,  the  great 
chief  of  the  Apaches,  loved  Unicorn — 
her  heart  bounded  at  the  mere  name  of 
the  great  Comanche  warrior  j  but  the 


THE   TRAIL-HUNTER. 


Ill 


chief  of  my  nation  has  only  one  heart, 
and  it  belongs  to  Sunbeam.  Two  days 
ago  the  warriors  of  my  tribe  set  out  for  a 
great  buffalo  hunt,  and  the  squaws  alone 
remained  in  the  village.  While  I 
slept  in  my  hut  four  Apache  thieves, 
taking  advantage  of  my  slumber,  seiz 
ed  me  and  my  child,  and  delivered  us 
into  the  hands  of  Stanapat's  daughter. 

"  '  You  love  your  husband,'  she  said 
with  a  grin  :  '  you  doubtless  suffer  at 
being  separated  from  him.  Be  happy  : 
I  will  send  you  to  him  by  the  shortest 
road.  He  is  hunting  on  tbe  prairies 
down  the  river,  and  in  two  hours  you 
will  be  in  his  arms,  unless,''  she  added 
with  a  laugh,  '  the  caymans  stop  you 
on  the  road.' 

" '  The  Comanche  women  despise 
death,'  1  answered  her.  '  Jb"or  a  hair  you 
pluck  from  me,  Unicorn  will  take  the 
scalps  of  your  whole  tribe ;  so  act  as 
you  think  proper ;'  and  I  turned  my 
head  away,  resolved  to  answer  her  no 
more. 

"  She  herself  fastened  me  to  the  log, 
with  my  face  turned  to  the  sky,  in  or 
der,  as  she  said,  that  I  might  see  my 
road  ;  and  then  she,  hurled  me  into  the 
river,  yelling  :  '  Unicorn  is  a  cowardly 
rabbit,  whom  the  Apache  women  de 
spise.  This  is  how  I  revenge  myself.' 
1  have  told  my  brother,  the  pale  hun 
ter,  everything  as  it  happened." 

"  My  sister  is  a  brave  woman,"  Val 
entine  replied  :  "  she  is  worthy  to  be 
the  wife  of  a  renowned  chief. 

The  young  mother  smiled  as  she  em 
braced  her  child,  which  she  presented, 
with  a  movement  full  of  grace,  to  the 
hunter,  who  kissed  it  on  the  forehead. 
At  this  moment  the  song  of  the  mau- 
kawis  was  heard  at  a  short  distance  off. 
The  two  hunters  raised  their  heads  in 
surprise,  and  looked  around  them. 

'•The  quail  sings  very  late,  I  fancy," 
Valentine  muttered  suspiciously. 

The  Indian  girl  smiled  as  she  looked 
down,  but  gave  no  answer.  Suddenly 
a  slight  cracking  of  dry  branches  dis 
turbed  the  silence. 

Valentine  and  Curumilla  made  a 
move,  as  if  to  spring  up  and  seize  their 
rifles  that  lay  by  their  side. 

"  My  brothers  must  not  stir,"  the 
squaw  said  quickly  :  "  it  is  a  friend." 


The  hunters  remained  mctlonless, 
and  the  girl  then  imitated  with  rare 
perfection  the  cry  of  the  blue  jay. 

The  bushes  parted,  and  an  Indian 
warrior,  perfectly  painted  and  armed 
for  war,  bounded  like  a  jackal  over  the 
grass  and  herbs  that  obstructed  his  pas 
sage,  and  stopped  in  face  of  the  hun 
ters.  This  warrior  was  Unicorn.  He 
saluted  the  two  men  with  that  grace  in 
nate  in  the  Indian  race  ;  then  he  crossed 
his  arms  on  his  breast  and  waiied,  with 
out  taking  a  glance  at  his  squaw,  or 
even  appearing  to  have  seen  her.  On 
her  side  the  Indian  woman  did  not  stir. 

During  several  moments  a  painful 
silence  fell  on  the  four  persons  whom 
chance  had  assembled  in  so  strange  a 
way.  At  length  Valentine,  seeing  the 
warrior  insisted  on  being  silent,  decided 
he  would  be  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Unicorn  is  welcome  to  our  camp," 
he  said.  "  Let  him  take  a  seat  by  the 
(ire  of  his  brothers,  and  share  with  them 
the  provisions  they  possess." 

"  I  will  take  a  seat  by  the  fire  of  my 
paleface  brother,"  he  replied ;  "  but  he 
must  first  answer  me  a  question  I  w;sh 
to  ask  of  him." 

"  My  brother  can  speak :  my  3ars  are  ; 
open." 

"  Good  !"  the  chief  answered.  "  How 
is  it  the  hunters  have  with  them  Uni 
corn's  wife  ?" 

"  Sunbeam  can  answer  that  question 
best,"  Valentine  said  gravely. 

The  chief  turned  to  his  squaw. 

"  I  am  waiting,"  he  remarked. 

The  Indian  woman  repeated,  word 
for  word,  to  her  husband  the  story  she 
had  told  a  few  minutes  before. 

Unicorn  listened  without  evincing 
either  surprise  or  wrath  :  his  face  re 
mained  impassive,  but  his  brows  were 
imperceptibly  contracted.  When  the 
woman  had  finished  speaking,  the  Co- 
manclie  chief  bowed  his  head  on  his 
chest,  and  remained  for  a  moment 
plunged  in  serious  thought.  Presently 
he  raised  his  head. 

"  Who  saved  Sunbeam  from  the  river 
when  she  was  about  to  perish  ?"  he 
asked  her.  » 

The  young  woman's  face  lit  up  with 
a  charming  smile. 

"  These  hunters,"  she  replied. 


112 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


"Good!"  the  chief  said,  laconically, 
as  he  bent  on  the  two  men  glances  ful] 
of  the  most  unspeakable  gratitude. 

"Could  we  leave  her  to  perish?" 
Valentine  said. 

"  My  brothers  did  well.  Unicorn  is 
one  of  the  first  sachems  of  his  nation. 
His  tongue  is  not  forked  :  he  gives  his 
heart  once,  and  takes  it  back  no  more. 
Unicorn's  heart  belongs  to  the  hun 
ters" 

These  simple  words  were  uttered 
with  the  majesty  and  grandeur  the  In 
dians  know  so  well  how  to  assume  when 
they  think  proper. 

The  two  men  vowed  their  gratitude, 
and  the  chief  continued  : 

"  Unicom  is  returning  to  his  village 
with  his  wife :  his  young  men  are 
awaiting  him  twenty  paces  from  here. 
He  would  be  happy  if  the  hunters  would 
consent  to  accompany  him  there." 

"Chief,"  Valentine  answered,  "we 
carne  into  the  prairie  to  hunt  the 
buffalo." 

"  Well,  what  matter?  My  brothers 
will  hunt  with  me  and  my  young  men; 
but  if  they  wish  to  prove  to  me  that 
they  accept  my  friendship,  they  will 
follow  me  to  my  village." 

"  The  chief  is  mounted,  while  we  are 
on  foot." 

"  I  have  horses." 

Any  further  resistance  would  have 
been  a  breach  of  politeness,  and  the 
hunters  accepted  the  invitation. 

Valentine,  whom  accident  had  brought 
on  to  the  prairies  of  the  Rio  Gila  and 
Del  Norte,  was  in  his  heart  not  sorry 
to  make  friends  there,  and  have  allies 
on  whose  support  he  could  reckon  in 
case  of  need. 

The  squaw  had  by  this  time  risen  : 
she  timidly  approached  her  husband, 
and  held  up  the  child,  saying  in  a  soft 
and  frightened  voice  : 

"  Kiss  this  warrior." 

The  chief  took  the  frail  creature  in 
his  muscular  arms,  and  kissed  it  re 
peatedly  with  a  display  of  extraordi 
nary  tenderness,  and  then  returned  it  to 
the  mother. 

The  latter  wrapped  the  babe  in  a 
small  blanket,  then  placed  it  on  a  plank 
shaped  like  a  cradle,  and  covered  with 
dry  moss,  fastened  a  hoop  over  the 


]  place  where  its  head  rested,  to  guard  it 
'  from  the  burning  beams  of  the  sun,  and 
hung  the  whole  on  her   back  by  means 
of  a  woollen  strap  passing  over  her  fore 
head. 

"  I  am  ready,"  she  said. 
"  Let  us  go,"  the  chief  replied. 
The  hunters  followed  him,  and  they 
were  soon  on  the  prairie. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE    ADOPTION. 

SOME  sixty  Comanche  warriors  were 
lying  in  the  grass  awaiting  their  sachem, 
while  the  tethered  horses  were  nibblin"1 

O 

the  tall  prairie  grasses  and  the  tree- 
shoots.  It  could  be  seen  at  the  first 
glance  that  these  men  were  picked  war 
riors,  selected  for  a  dangerous  expedi 
tion.  From  the  heels  of  all  dangled 
five  or  six  wolf  tails — marks  of  honor 
which  only  renowned  warriors  have  the 
right  to  wear. 

On  seeing  their  chief,  they  hurriedly 
rose  and  leaped  into  their  saddles.  All 
were  aware  that  their  sachem's  wife  had 
been  carried  off,  and  that  the  object  of 
their  expedition  was  to  deliver  her. 
Still,  on  noticing  her,  they  evidenced 
no  surprise,  but  saluted  her  as  if  she 
had  left  them  only  a  few  moments  pre 
viously.  The  war-party  had  with  it 
several  horses,  which  the  chief  ordered 
to  be  given  to  his  squaw  and  his  new 
friends ;  then,  at  a  signal  from  him,  the 
whole  party  started  at  full  speed,  for 
the  Indians  know  no  other  pace  than  the 
gallop. 

After  about  two  hours'  ride  they 
reached  the  vicinity  of  the  village,  which 
could  be  smelt  some  time  before  reach 
ing,  owing  to  the  habit  the  Comanches 
have  of  placing  their  dead  on  scaffold 
ings  outside  the  villages,  where  they 
moulder  away  :  these  scaffoldings,  com 
posed  of  four  stakes  planted  in  the 
ground,  terminated  in  a  fork,  while 
from  poles  stuck  up  near  them  hung 
skins  and  other  offerings  made  by  the 
Indians  to  the  Genius  of  Good. 

At  the  entrance  of  the  village  a  nurn 
ber  of  horsemen  were  assembled,  await 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER 


113 


ing  the  return  of  the  sachem.  So  soon 
as  they  perceived  him  they  burst  into  a 
formidable  yell,  and  rushed  forward  like 
a  whirlwind,  shouting,  firing  guns,  and 
brandishing  their  weapons.  Unicorn's 
band  followed  this  example,  and  there 
was  soon  a  most  extraordinary  confu 
sion. 

The  sachem  made  his  entry  into  the 
village  in  the  midst  of  shouts,  barking 
of  dogs,  and  shots;  in  short,  he  was 
accompanied  to  the  square  by  an  inde 
scribable  row.  On  reaching  it  the  war 
riors  stopped. 

Unicorn  begged  the  hunters  to  dis 
mount,  and  guided  them  to  his  cabin, 
which  he  made  them  enter  before  him. 

"  Now,"  he  said  to  them,  "  brothers, 
you  are  at  home :  rest  in  peace,  eat  and 
drink.  This  evening  I  will  come  and 
talk  with  you,  and  make  you  a  proposal 
which  I  sincerely  hope  you  will  not  re 
ject." 

The  two  hunters,  wearied  by  the  long 
ride  they  had  made,  fell  back  with  ex 
treme  satisfaction  on  the  beds  of  dried 
leaves  which  awaited  them. 

"  Well,"  Valentine  asked  Curumilla, 
"penni,  what  do  you  say  about  what  is 
happening  to  us?" 

"  It  may  be  good." 

"Can  it  not?" 

"  Yes." 

On  whicli  Curumilla  fell  asleep,  and 
Valentine  soon  followed  his  example. 

As  he  had  promised,  toward  evening 
Unicorn  entered  the  cabin. 

"  Have  my  brothers  rested  ?"  he 
asked. 

"  Yes,"  Valentine  answered. 

"  Are  they  disposed  to  listen  to  me  ?" 

"  Speak,  chief;  we  are  listening." 

The  Comanche  sachem  then  squatted 
near  the  fire,  and  remained  tor  several 
minutes,  with  his  head  bent  forward 
and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  in  the 
position  of  a  man  who  is  reflecting.  At 
length  he  raised  his  head,  stretched 
forth  his  arm  as  if  to  give  greater 
authority  to  the  words  he  was  about  to 
utter,  and  began  thus  : 

"  Brother,  you  and  your  friend  are 
two  brave  warriors.  The  prairies  re 
joice  at  your  arrival  among  us;  the 
deer  and  the  buffaloes  fly  at  your  ap 


proach  ;  for  your  arm  is  strong,  and 
your  eye  unerring.  Unicorn  is  only  a 
poor  Indian  ;  but  he  is  a  great  warrior 
among  the  Comanches,  and  a  much 
feared  chief  of  his  tribe.  You  have 
saved  his  wife,  Sunbeam,  whom  the 
Apache  dogs  threw  into  the  Gila,  and 
whom  the  hideous  alligators  were  pre 
paring  to  devour.  Since  his  wife,  the 
joy  of  his  hearth,  and  his  son,  the  hope 
of  his  old  days,  have  been  restored  to 
him,  Unicorn  has  sought  in  his  heart 
the  means  to  prove  to  you  his  grati 
tude.  He  asked  the  Chief  of  Life  what 
he  could  do  to  attach  you  to  him.  Uni 
corn  is  terrible  in  combat;  he  has  the 
heart  of  the  grizzly  bear  for  his  enemies 
— he  has  the  heart  of  the  gazelte  for  those 
he  loves." 

"  Chief,"  Valentine  answered,  "  the 
words  you  utter  at  this  moment  amply 
repay  us  for  what  we  have  done.  We 
are  happy  to  have  saved  the  wife  and 
son  of  a  celebrated  warrior  :  our  reward 
is  in  our  hearts,  and  we  wish  for  no 
other." 

The  chief  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  said  ;  "  the  two  hunters 
are  no  longer  strangers  for  the  Coman 
ches  ;  they  are  the  brothers  of  our  tribe. 
During  their  sleep  Unicorn  assembled 
round  the  council  fire  the  chiefs  of  his 
nation,  anJ  told  them  what  has  passed. 
The  chiefs  have  ranged  themselves  on 
Unicorn's  side,  and  have  ordered  him  to 
make  known  to  the  hunters  the  resolu 
tion  they  have  formed." 

"  Speak,  then,  chief,"  Valentine  said, 
"  and  believe  that  the  wishes  of  the 
council  will  be  commands  to  us." 

A  smile  of  joy  played  round  the 
chief's  lips. 

"  Good  !"  he  said.  "  This  is  what 
was  agreed  on  among  the  great  chiefs. 
My  brothers  the  hunters  will  be  adopt 
ed  by  the  tribe,  and  be  henceforth  sons 
of  the  great  Comanche  nation.  What 
say  my  brothers  ?" 

A  lively  feeling  of  pleasure  made 
Valentine  quiver  at  this  unexpected 
proposition.  To  be  adopted  by  the 
Comanche  tribe,  was  obtaining  the  right 
of  hunting  over  the  whole  extent  of  the 
immense  prairies  which  that  powerful 
nation  holds  through  its  indomitable 


114 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER 


courage  and  the  number  of  its  warriors. 
The  hunter  exchanged  a  glance  with  his 
silent  comrade  and  rose. 

"  1  accept  for  myself  and  friend,"  he 
said  as  he  held  out  his  hand  to  the 
chief,  "  the  honor  the  Comanches  do  us 
in  admitting  us  into  the  number  of  the 
sons  of  their  warlike  nation.  We  shall 
prove  ourselves  worthy  of  this  marked 
favor." 

Unicorn  smiled. 

"To-morrow,"  he  said  as  he  rose, 
"  my  brothers  will  be  adopted  by  the 
nation." 

After  bowing  gracefully  to  the  hunters 
he  took  leave  of  them  and  withdrew. 

The  next  daybreak  the  chiefs  entered 
the  cubing 

Valentine  and  Curumilla  were  ready, 
and  had  long  been  acquainted  with  the 
trials  they  would  have  to  undergo. 

The  neophytes  were  conducted  into 
the  great  medicine  hut,  where  a  copious 
meal  was  prepared.  It  consisted  of 
dog  meat  boiled  in  bear  fat,  tortillas, 
maize,  and  hautle  cakes.  The  chiefs 
squ.-itted  in  a  circle,  while  the  squaws 
waited  on  them. 

When  the  meal  was  ended  all  rose. 

Unicorn  placed  himself  between  the 
hunters,  laid  his  hands  on  their  heads, 
and  struck  up  the  great  war-song.  This 
song  was  repeated  in  chorus  by  the  com 
pany  to  the  sound  of  the  war  whistles, 
the  drums  and  the  chikikoues. 

The  following  is  the  translation  of 
the  song : 

•'  Master  of  Life,  regard  us  with  a  favorable  eye. 
\Ve  are  receiving  two  brothers  in  arms  who  appear  to 

have  sense. 

They  display  vigor  in  their  arms. 
I'hey  fear  not  to  expose  their  bodies  to  the  blows  of 

their  enemies." 

It  is  impossible  for  any  one  who  has 
not  been  present  at  the  ceremony  to 
form  even  a  distant  idea  of  the  frightful 
noise  produced  by  their  hoarse  voices 
mingled  with  the  shrill  and  discordant 
instruments  :  it  was  enough  to  produce 
a  deafness. 

When  the  song  was  ended  each  took 
his  seat  by  the  council  fire. 

The  hunters  were  seated  on  beaver 
skins,  and  the  great  war  calumet  was 
presented  to  them,  from  which  each 
took  several  puffs,  and  it  went  the 
round. 


Unicorn  then  rose,  and  fastened  round 
the  neck  of  each  a  wampum  collar,  and 
another  made  of  the  claws  of  the  grizzly 
bear. 

The  Indians,  during  this  time,  had 
built  near  the  medicine  lodge  a  cabin 
for  the  sweating,  and  when  it  was  finish 
ed  the  hunters  took  off  their  clothes  and 
entered  it. 

The  chiefs  then  brought  two  large 
stones  which  had  been  previously  made 
red  hot,  and  after  closing  the  hut  care 
fully,  left  the  neophytes  in  it. 

The  latter  threw  water  on  the  stones, 
and  the  steam  which  arose  almost  im 
mediately  produced  a  profuse  perspira 
tion.  When  this  was  at  its  height  the 
hunters  ran  outof  the  hut,  passed  through 
the  double  row  of  warriors,  and  leaped 
into  the  river,  according  to  the  usual 
fashion.  They  were  immediately  drawn 
from  the  water,  wrapped  in  blankets, 
and  led  to  Unicorn's  hut,  in  order  to 
undergo  the  final  trial,  which  is  also  the 
most  painful. 

The  hunters  were  laid  on  their  backs, 
then  Unicorn  traced  on  their  chests 
with  a  sharp  stick  dipped  in  water  in 
which  gunpowder  had  been  dissolved, 
the  figure  of  the  animal  serving  as  totem 
(protector)  to  the  tribe.  Then  with 
two  spikes  fastened  to  a  small  piece  of 
wood,  and  dipped  in  vermillion,  he  pro 
ceeded  to  prick  the  design. 

Whenever  Unicorn  came  to  a  place 
that  was  too  hard  he  made  an  incision 
in  the  flesh  with  a  gun-flint.  The  places 
that  were  not  marked  with  vermillion 
were  rubbed  in  with  powder,  so  that  the 
result  was  a  red  and  blue  tattooing. 
During  the  course  of  this  operation  the 
war-songs  and  chikikoues  were  constant 
ly  heard,  in  order  to  drown  the  cries 
which  the  atrocious  pain  might  draw 
from  the  patients  ;  but  the  latter  endur 
ed  it  all  without  even  a  contraction  of 
the  eyebrows  evidencing  the  pain  they 
must  have  felt. 

When  the  tattooing  was  over  the 
wounds  were  cauterised  with  rotten 
wood  to  prevent  suppuration ;  they 
were  washed  with  cold  water,  in  which 
'had  been  infused  a  herb  resembling  box, 
a  great  deal  of  which  the  Indians  mix 
with  their  tobacco  to  reduce  the  strength. 

The   trial  we   have   described  is  so 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


115 


painful  to  endure,  that  nearly  always  it 
is  only  accomplished  at  intervals,  and 
often  lasts  a  week. 

This  time  the  hunters  endured  it  brave 
ly  during  the  six  hours  it  lasted,  not  ut 
tering  a  cry,  or  giving  a  sign  of  weak 
ness.  Hence  the  Indians,  from  this  mo 
inent,  regarded  them  with  a  species  of 
respect ;  for  with  them  courage  is  the 
first  of  qualities. 

"  My  brothers  are  children  of  the 
tribe,"  the  chief  said,  offering  each  a 
horse.  "  The  prairie  belongs  to  them. 
These  coursers  will  bear  them  to  the 
most  remote  limits  of  the  desert,  cha 
sing  the  wild  beasts,  or  pursuing  the 
Apache  dogs." 

"  Good  !"  Valentine  answered. 

At  one  bound  the  two  hunters  were 
in  their  saddles,  and  made  their  horses 
perform  the  most  elegant  and  graceful 
cnrvets.  This  last  and  heroic  deed, 
after  all  they  had  suffered  during  the 
course  of  the  day,  raised  to  their  full 
height  the  joy  and  enthusiasm  of  the 
Comanches,  who  applauded  with  frenzied 
shouts  and  yells  all  they  saw  their  new 
brothers  execute. 

After  remaining  nearly  an  hour  on 
horseback  they  dismounted,  and  follow 
ed  the  chiefs  into  the  medicine  lodge  ; 
and  when  each  had  taken  his  seat  round 
the  council  fire,  and  the  calumet  had 
again  been  smoke.d,  Unicorn  rose. 

"  The  Master  of  Life  loves  His  Com- 
anche  sons,  since  He  gives  them  for 
brothers  such  warriors  as  Koutonepi 
and  Curuinilla.  Who  can  equal  their 
courage  ?  Who  would  dare  to  contend 
with  them  ?  On  their  approach  the 
grizzly  bear  hides  at  the  extremity  of 
its  den  ;  the  jaguar  bounds  far  away 
on  seeing  them  ;  the  eagle  itself,  which 
looks  the  sun  in  the  face,  flies  from 
their  unerring  bullet.  Brothers,  we 
congratulate  ourselves  on  counting  you 
among  our  warriors.  Henceforth  we 
shall  be  invincible.  Brothers,  give  up 
the  names  you  have  up  to  this  day 
borne,  and  assume  those  we  now  give 
you.  You,  Koutonepi,  are  henceforth 
Quatihtli,  and  bear  the  name  of  that 
eagle,  whose  courage  and  strength  you 
possess.  You,  Curumilla,  will  be  call 
ed  Vexolotl,  and  the  cock  will  be  proud 


to  see  that  you  have  taken  possession 
of  its  name." 

The  two  hunters  warmly  thanked 
their  new  brothers,  and  were  led  back 
by  the  chiefs  to  their  cabin,  who  wi-hed 
them  a  pleasant  night  after  so  rude  a 
day. 

Such  was  the  way  in  which  Valentine 
and  Curumiila,  to  whom  we  shall  con 
tinue  to  give  their  old  nani"s,  formed 
the  acquaintance  of  Unicorn,  and  the 
result  of  it. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE    MISSIONARY. 

WITH  time  the  relations  existing  be 
tween  the  hunters  and  the  Indians  were 
drawn  closer,  and  became  more  friend 
ly.  In  the  desert  physical  strength  is 
the  quality  most  highly  esteemed. 
Man,  compelled  to  struggle  incessantly 
against  the  dangers  of  every  descrip 
tion  that  rise  each  moment  before  him 
is  bound  to  look  only  to  himself  for  the 
means  to  surmount  them.  Hence  the 
Indians  profess  a  profound  contempt, 
for  sickly  people,  and  weak  and  timid 
nerves. 

Valentine  easily  induced  Unicorn  to 
seize,  during  the  hunt  of  the  wild 
horses,  the  Mexican  magistrates,  in 
order  to  make  hostages  of  them  if  the 
conspiracy  were  unsuccessful.  What 
the  hunter  foresaw  happened. 

Red  Cedar  had  opposed  stratagem  to 
stratagem  ;  and,  as  we  have  seen,  Don 
Miguel  was  arrested  in  the  midst  of  his 
triumph,  at  the  very  moment  when  he 
fancied  himself  master  of  the  Paso  del 
Norte. 

After  Valentine,  Curumilla,  and  Don 
Pablo  had  seen,  from  their  hiding  place 
in  the  bushes,  the  mournful  escort  pass 
that  was  taking  Don  Miguel  as  a  prison 
er  to  Santa  Ye,  they  held  a  council. 
Moments  were  precious ;  for  in  Mexico 
conspirators  have  the  sad  privilege  over 
every  other  prisoner  of  being  tried 
quickly,  and  not  left  to  pine.  The 
prisoner  must  be  saved. 

Valentine,  with  that  promptitude  of 


116 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


decision  which  formed  the  salient  point 
of  his  character,  soon  arranged  in  his 
head  one  of  those  bold  schemes  which 
only  he  could  discover. 

"  Courage  !"  be  said  to  Don  Pablo. 
"  As  long  as  the  heart  beats  in  the 
breast  there  is  hope,  thank  Heaven  ! 
The  first  hand  is  lost,  I  allow  ;  but  now 
for  the  second  game." 

Don  Pablo  had  entire  faith  in  Valen 
tine  :  he  had  often  been  in  the  position 
to  try  his  friend.  If  these  words  did 
not  completely  re-assure  him,  they  at 
least  almost  restored  his  hope,  and  gave 
him  back  that  courage  so  necessary  to 
him  at  this  supreme  moment,  and  which 
had  abandonedNiirn. 

"  Speak,  my  friend,"  he  said.  "  What 
is  to  be  done  ?" 

"  Let  us  attend  to  the  most  impor 
tant  tiling  first,  and  save  Father  Sera- 
phin,  who  devoted  himself  for  us." 

The  three  men  started. 

The  night  was  a  gloomy  one.  The 
moon  only  appeared  at  intervals  :  in 
cessantly  veiled  by  thick  clouds  which 
passed  over  its  disc,  it  seemed  to  shed 
its  sickly  rays  regretfully  on  the  earth. 
The  wind  whistled  through  the  branches 
of  the  trees,  which  uttered  mysterious 
murmurs  as  they  came  into  collision. 
The  coyotes  howled  in  the  plain,  and 
at  times  their  sinister  form  shot  athwart 
the  sky-line.  After  a  march  of  about 
an  hour  the  three  men  approached  the 
spot  where  the  missionary  had  fallen 
from  the  effect  of  Red  Cedar's  bullet ; 
but  he  had  disappeared.  An  alarm 
mingled  with  a  frightful  agony  contract 
ed  the  hunter's  hearts. 

Valentine  took  a  despairing  glance 
around ;  but  the  darkness  was  too 
dense  for  him  possibly  to  distinguish 
anything. 

"  W  hat  is  to  be  done  ?"  Don  Pablo 
asked  sadly. 

"  Seek,"  Valentine  replied  sharply  : 
"  he  cannot  be  far." 

Curumilla  had  already  taken  up  the 
trail,  and  had  disappeared  in  the  gloom. 
The  Araucano  had  never  been  a  great 
speaker  naturally :  with  age  he  had 
grown  almost  dumb,  and  never  uttered 
a  word  save  when  absolutely  necessary. 
But  if  the  Indian  did  not  talk,  he  acted  ; 
and  in  critical  situations  his  determina 


tion   was  often   worth  long  harangues. 

Don  Pablo,  obedient  to  Valentine's 
orders,  threw  his  rifle  over  his  shoulder, 
and  prepared  to  execute  them. 

"  Where  are  you  going?"  the  hunter 
asked  him,  as  he  seized  his  arm. 

"  To  look  for  Father  Seraphin." 

"  Wait." 

The  two  men  stood  motionless,  lis 
tening  to  the  mysterious  sounds  of  the 
desert,  that  nameless  melody  which 
plunges  the  soul  into  a  soft  reverie. 
Nearly  an  hour  passed  thus,  nothing 
revealing  to  the  hunters  that  Curumil 
la' s  search  had  proved  successful. 

Valentine,  growing  impatient  at  this 
long  delay,  was  also  preparing  to  go  on, 
at  once  the  weak,  snapping  cry  of  the 
walkon  rose  in  the  air. 

"  What's  that?"  Don  Pablo  asked  in 
surprise. 

"Silence!"  Valentine  muttered.. 

A  second  time  the  walkon  sang,  but 
this  time  stronger,  and  much  nearer. 

Valentine  raised  his  fingers  to  his 
lips,  and  imitated  the  sharp,  .shrill  yell 
of  the  ocelot  twice,  with  such  perfection 
that  Don  Pablo  started  involuntarily, 
and  looked  round  for  the  wild  beast, 
whose  eyes  he  fancied  he  could  see  flash 
ing  behind  a  thicket.  Almost  imme 
diately  the  note  of  the  walkon  was 
heard  a  third  time. 

Valentine  rested  the  butt  of  his  rifla 
on  the  ground. 

"Good!"  he  said.  "Do  not  be 
be  alarmed,  Don  Pablo.  Curumilia  has 
found  Father  Seraphin." 

The  young  man  looked  at  him  in 
amazement. 

The  hunter  smiled. 

"They  will  both  arrive  directly,"  he 
said. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?'* 

"  Child  !"  Valentine  interrupted  him, 
"  in  the  desert  the  human  voice  is  more 
injurious  than  useful.  The  song  of 
birds,  the  cry  of  wild  beasts,  serve  us 
as  a  language." 

"  Yes,'1  the  young  man  answered 
simply,  "  that  is  true.  I  have  often 
heard  it  stated ;  but  I  was  not  aware 
you  could  understand  one  another  so 
easily." 

"  That  is  nothing,"  the  hunter  an 
swered  good-humoredly  :  "  you  will  see 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


117 


much  more  if  you  only  pass  a  mont 
in  our  company." 

In  a  tew  moments  the  sound  of  foot 
steps  became  audible,  at  first  faint,  thei 
gradually  coming  nearer,  and  two  sha 
dows  were  dimly  drawn  on  the  night. 

"  Halloa !"  Valentine  shouted   as   h 
raised  and  cocked  his  rifle,  "  friend  01 
foe  ?" 

"  Pennis  (brothers),"  a  voice  an 
swered. 

"  It  is  Curumilla,"  said  Valentine. 
"  Let  us  go  to  meet  him." 

Don  Pablo  followed  him,  and  they 
soon  reached  the  Indian,  who  walkeo 
slowly,  obliged  as  he  was  to  support, 
almost  carry,  the  missionary. 

When  Father  Seraphin  fell  off*  his 
horse  he  almost  immediately  lost  his 
senses.  He  remained  for  a  long  time 
lying  in  the  ditch,  but  by  degrees  the 
night  cold  had  brought  him  round  again. 
At  the  first  moment  the  poor  priest, 
whose  ideas  were  still  confused,  had 
cast  ar. xious  glances  around  him,  while 
asking  himself  how  he  carne  there.  He 
tried  to  rise;  but  then  a  poignant  pain 
he  felt  in  his  shoulder  reminded  him  of 
what  had  occurred.  Still  he  did  not 
despair.  Alone  by  night  in  the  desert, 
exposed  to  a  thousand  unknown  dan 
gers,  of  which  the  least  was  being  de 
voured  by  wild  beasts,  without  weapons 
to  defend  himself,  too  weak,  indeed,  to 
attempt  it,  even  if  he  had  them,  he  re 
solved  not  to  remain  in  this  terrible 
position,  but  make  the  greatest  efforts 
to  rise,  and  drag  himself  as  well  as  he 
could  to  the  Paso,  which  was  three 
leagues  distant  at  the  most,  where  he 
was  sure  of  finding  that  care  his  condi 
tion  demanded. 

Father  Seraphin,  like  the  majority 
of  the  missionaries  who  generously  de 
vote  themselves  to  the  welfare  of 
humanity,  was  a  man  who,  under  a 
weak  and  almost  feminine  appearance, 
concealed  an  indomitable  energy,  and  a 
resolution  that  would  withstand  all 
trials. 

So  soon  as  he  had  formed  his  plan  he 
began  carrying  it  out.  With  extreme 
difficulty  and  atrocious  pain  he  suc 
ceeded  in  fastening  his  handkerchief 
round  his  shoulder,  so  as  to  check  the 
hemorrhage.  It  took  more  than  an 


hour  before  he  could  stand  on  his  legs  : 
often  he  felt  himself  fanning,  a  cold  per 
spiration  beaded  at  the  root  of  his  hair, 
he  had  a  buzzing  in  his  ears,  and  every 
thing  seemed  to  be  turning  round  him  ; 
but  he  wrestled  with  the  pain,  clasped 
his  hands  with  an  effort,  raised  his  tear- 
laden  eyes  to  heaven,  and  murmured 
from  the  bottom  of  his  heart : 

"  O  God  !  deign  to  support  thy  ser 
vant,  for  he  has  set  on  thee  all  his 
hopes  and  confidence." 

Prayer,  when  made  with  faith,  pro- 
duc.-s  in  a  man  an  effect  whose  conse 
quences  are  immediate;  it  consoles 
him,  gives  him  courage,  and  almost  re 
stores  him  the  strength  that  has  desert 
ed  him.  * 

This  was  what  happened  to  Father 
Seraphin. 

After  uttering  these  few  words  he 
set  out  boldly,  supporting  his  tottering 
footsteps  with  a  stick,  which  a  provi- 
dnitial  chance  had  placed  in  his  way. 
He  walked  thus  for  nearly  halt'  a  leaguo 
stopping  at  every  instant  to  draw 
breath ;  but  human  endurance  has  lim 
its  beyond  which  it  cannot  go.  In  spite 
>f  the  efforts  he  made,  the  missionary 
it  length  felt  his  legs  give  way  under 
lim  ;  he  understood  that  he  could  not 
go  further ;  and  he  sank  at  the  foot  of 

tree,  certain  that    he  had    attempted 
impossibilities,    and  henceforth   resign- 
ng   to  Providence  the  care  of  saving 
him. 

It  was  at  this  moment  Curumilla  ar- 
•ived  near  him.  The  Indian  aided  him 
;o  rise,  and  then  warned  his  comrades 
>f  the  success  of  his  search. 

Father  Seraphin,  though  the  chief 
iffered  to  carry  him,  refused,  and  wish- 
td  to  walk  to  join  his  friends  ;  but  his 
;trength  deserted  him  a  second  time, 
le  lost  his  senses,  and  fell  into  the 
irms  of  the  Indian,  who  watched  him 
ittentively  ;  for  he  noticed  his  increas- 
ng  weakness,  and  foresaw  his  fall. 

Valentine  and  Curumilla  hastily  con- 
tructed  a  litter  of  tree  branches,  on 
•vhieh  they  laid  the  poor  wounded  man, 
nd  raising  him  on  their  shoulders,  went 
ff rapidly. 

The  night  passed  away,  and  the  sun 
•as  already  high  on  tiie  horizon,  and 
et  the  hunters  wtu-e  marching.  At 


118 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


length,  at  about  eleven  o'clock,  th-y 
reached  the  cavern  which  served  Val 
entine  as  a  shelter,  and  to  which  he  had 
resolved  to  carry  his  patieut,  that  he 
might  himself  nurse  him. 

Father  Seraphin  was  in  a  raging 
fever ;  his  face  was  red,  his  eyes  fl:i>h- 
ing.  As  nearly  always  happens  with 
gun-shot  wounds,  a  suppurating  fever 
had  declared  itself.  The  missionary 
was  laid  on  a  bed  of  furs,  and  Valentine 
immediately  prepared  to  probe  the 
wound. 

By  a  singular  chance  the  ball  had 
lodged  in  the  shoulder  without  fractur 
ing  the  blade-bone. 

Valentine  drew  it ;  and  then  helped 
by  Curumilla,  who  had  quietly  pounded 
oragano  leaves,  he  formed  a  cataplasm, 
which  be  laid  on  the  wound,  after  first 
carefully  washing  it.  Scarcely  had 
this  been  done  ere  the  missionary  fell 
into  a  deep  sleep,  which  lasted  till  uight- 
fcill. 

Valentine's    treatment    had    effected 

wonders.     The  fever  had  disappeared, 

the    priest's    features  were  calmed,  the 

.flush  that  purpled  his   cheeks  had  given 

place  lo  a  pallor  caused    by  the  loa»  v£ 

blood  ;    in    short,    he  was    as  well  as 

could    be   expected        Ou    opening    his 

eves    he    perceived    the    three   hu  tens 

watching  him   anxiously.      He   smiled, 

.  j  in  a  weak  voice  : 

'•  Tnauks,     my    brothers,  thank 
the  help  you  have  afforded    me.      Hea 
ven  will  reward  you.     I  feel  much  bet 
ter." 

"  The  Lord  be  praised  f  Valentine 
answered.  "  You  will  escape,  my  fath 
er,  more  cheaply  than  I  had  dared  to 
hope." 

"  Can  it  be  possible  ?" 

"  Yes,  your  wound,  though  serious,  is 
not  dangerous,  and  in  a  few  days  you 
can,  if  you  think  necessary,  resume 
your  avocations." 

l'  I  than*  you  for  this  new  good,  my 
dear  Valentine.  I  no  longer  count  the 
times  I  have  owed  my  life  to  you. 
Heaven,  in  its  infinite  goodness,  has 
placed  you  near  rne  to  support  me  in 
ii.y  tribulations,  and  succor  uae  in  days 
of  d.. 

Ttie  uuuter  blushed. 

"  Do  not   apeak   so,  my  father,"  he 


said  ;  '•  I  have  only  performed  a  sacred 
liury.  Do  you  feel  strong  enough  to 
talk  for  a  few  minutes  w  th  me?" 

'*  Yes.     Speak,  my  friend.'' 

"I  wished  to  ask  your  advice." 

"  My  talents    are    very  slight  :    still 
you    know  how  I    love  you, 
Tell  me  what  vexes  you,  and  perhaps  I 
may  be  able  to  be  useful  to  you." 

"  I  believe  it,  my  father."' 

"  Speak,  then,  in  Heaven's  name,  my 
friend  ;  for.  if  you  have  recour>e  to  rue, 
the  affair  must  be  very  serious." 

"  It  cannot  be  more  so." 

"  Go  on  :  1  am  listening." 

And  the  missionary  settled  himself 
on  his  bed  to  hear  as  comfortably  as  he 
could  the  confession  the  hunter  wished 
to  make  to  him. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE    INTERVIEW. 

AT  daybreak  the  next  morning  Cur 
umilla  started  tor  Unicorn's  village.  At 
sunset  he  returned  to  the  cavern,  ac 
companied  by  the  Coruanche  chief.  The 
aachem  entertained  the  most  profound 
respect  for  Fatrier  Seraphiu,  whose 
noble  character  he  could  appreciate,  and 
felt  pained  at  the  state  in  which  he 
found  him. 

"  Father,"  he  said  to  him  as  he  kissed 
his  hand,  "who  are  the  villains  who 
thus  wounded  you,  to  whom  the  M.isrer 
of  Life  has  imparted  the  secret  to  make 
us  happy  ?  \V  hoever  they  mav  be, 
.ien  shall  die." 

"  My  son,"  the  priest  answered  gen 
tly,  "  I  will  not  pronounce  befot 
the  name  of  the  unhappy  man  who,  in 
a  moment  of  madness,  raised  his  hand 
against  rne.  My  God  is  a  God  of 
peace  ;  He  is  merciful,  and  recommends 
His  creatures  to  forget  injuries,  aud  re 
quite  good  for  evil." 

The  Indian  looked  at  him  in  amaze 
ment.     He  did  not  understand  t.. 
and    touching   sublimity  of  these    pre 
cepts  <  f  love.     Educated  in  the  sangui 
nary  principles  of  his  race — pers  - 
like  ail    red-skins,  that  a  warrior's  first 
du-y  is  revenge — he  only  admitted  that 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


119 


rocious  lu\v  of  the  prairies  which 
finmands,  "  Eye  tor  eye,  tooth  fui 
>oth  r — a  terrible  law,  which  we  do 
it  venture,  however,  utterly  to  con- 
mn  in  these  countries,  where  am- 
isties  are  permanent,  and  implacable 
.Mth  stands  at  every  corner  of  the 
tad. 

"  My  son,"  Father  Seraphin  con  tin  u- 
J.  ''you  area  great  warrior.  Many 
time  vou  have  braved  the  atrocious 
irtures  of  the  stake  of  blood,  a  tiiou- 
und  fold  more  terrible  titan  death  it- 
-lf.  Often  have  you,  with  a  pleasure  1 
xcuse  (for  it  is  in  your  nature),  thrown 
own  your  enemy,  and  planted  your 
nee  on  his  chest.  Have  \  ou  Lever 
ardoned  anybody  in  fight  ?" 

"  Never  !"  the  Indian  answered,  his 
ve  sparkling  with  satisfied  pride. 
'  Unicorn  has  sent  many  Apache  dogs 
o  the  happy  hunting-grounds :  their 
e;lps  are  drying  at  the  door  of  his 
•abin." 

'•  Well,"  the  missionary  said  gently, 
•  trv  clemency  onct,  only  once,  and  you 
vill  know  one  of  the  greatest  pleasures 
has  granted  to  man  ou  earth — that 
pardoning." 
The  chief  shook  his  head. 

No."  he  said  ;  "  a  dead  enemy  is  no 
iger  to  be  feared.     Better  to  kill  than 
.ve.   him   means  to  avenge  himself  at 
a  later  date." 

"  My  son,  you  love  me,  I  believe  ?" 
''  Yes.     My   father  is    good  ;  he  has 
behaved  well    to    the   Comanches,  and 
the\  are  grateful.     Let  my  father  com 
mand,  and  his  son  will  obey." 

"  1  have  no  right  to  give  you  an 
order,  my  son.  1  can  only  ask  a  favor 
of  you." 

"  Good  !  My  father  can  explain 
himself.  Unicorn  will  do  what  he  de 
sires.'' 

"  Well,  then,''  said  the  missionary 
with  a  lively  feeling  of  joy,  "  promise 
me  to  pardon  the  first  unhappy  man, 
whoever  he  may  be,  who  falls  into 
Your  hands,  and  vou  will  render  me 
happy." 

The  chief  frowned,  and  an  expression 
of  dissatisfaction  appeared  ou  his  fea 
tures. 

father  Seraphin  anxiously  followed 


<>n  the  Comar.che's  intelligent  counte 
nance  the  diiFe.-eiit  shadows  P-fiVcteJ  on 
it  as  in  a  mirror.  At  length  the  Indian 
regained  his  stoicism,  arid  his  face  grew 
serene  agai  . 

"  Does  my  father  demand  it  ?"  he 
asked  in  a  gentle  voice. 

"  I  desire  it." 

"  Be  it  so  :  my  father  shall  be  satis 
fied.  I  promise  him  to  pardor.  the  first 
enemy  whom  the,  Manitoii  causes  to  fall 
beneath  the  point  of  my  lance." 

"  Thanks,  chief,"  the  missionary  ex 
claimed  joyfully,  "thanks!  Heaven 
vviil  reward  you  for  this  good  idea." 

The  In  iian  bowed  silently  and  turned 
to  Valentine,  who  had  been  listening  to 
the  conversation. 

ki  My  brother  called  me,  and  1  came. 
What  does  he  want  of  Unicorn  ?" 

'*  My  brother  will  take  his  seat  at  the 
council  fire,  and  smoke  the  calumet 
with  his  iriend.  Chiefs  do  not  speak 
without  reflecting  on  the  words  they 
are  about  to  utter." 

'•  My  brother  speaks  well,  and  I  will 
take  my  s  at  at  his  fire." 

Curumilla  had  lighted  a  large  fire  in 
the  first  grotto  of  the  cavern.  The  four 
men  left,  Father  Seraphin  to  take  a  few 
moments'  rest,  ard  seated  themselves 
round  the  fire,  when  the  calumet  passed 
from  hand  to  hand.  The  Indians  never 
undertake  anything  important,  or  com 
mence  a  discussion,  without  first  smok 
ing  the  calumet  in  counc  1,  whatever 
may  be  the  circumstances  in  which  they 
are  placed. 

When  the  calumet  had  gone  the 
round  Valentine  rose. 

"  Every  day,"  he  said,  bowing  to 
the  chief,  "I  appreciate  more  and  more 
the  honor  the  Comanches  did  me  in 
adopting  me  as  a  son.  My  brother's 
nation  is  powerful;  its  hunting-grounds 
cover  the  whole  surface  of  the  earth. 
The  Apaches  fly  before  the  Comaiiche 
warriors  like  cowardly  coyotes  before 
courageous  men.  My  brother  has  al 
ready  several  times  done  me  a  service 
with  that  greatness  of  soul  which  dis 
tinguishes  him,  and  can  onlv  belong  to 
a  warrior  so  Celebrated  as  he  is.  To 
day  I  have  aga'ii  a  service  to  ask  ;>f  my 
brother,  and  will  he  do  it  me]  I  pre- 


120 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


sume  so ;  for  I  know  his  heart,  and  tha 
the  Great  Spirit  of  the  Master  of  Lif 
dwells  in  him." 

"  Let  my  brother  explain,"  Unicorn 
answered.  "  He  is  speaking  to  a  cuief 
he  must  remove  the  skin  from  his  hear 
and  let  his  blood  flow  red  and  brigh 
before  a  friend.  The  great  white  hunt 
er  is  a  portion  of  myself.  1  shoulc 
have  to  be  prevented  by  an  arrant  im 
possibility  if  I  refused  any  request  em 
anating  from  him." 

"Thanks,  brother,"  Valentine  said 
•with  emotion.  "  Your  words  have 
passed  from  your  lips  into  my  breast, 
which  they  have  rejoiced.  1  am  not 
mistaken.  I  see  that  I  can  ever  count 
on  your  well-tried  friendship  and  honest 
aid.  Acumaricthzin  de  Zarate,  the  de 
scendant  of  the  Mexican  kings,  the 
friend  of  the  redskins,  whom  he  has 
ever  protected,  is  a  prisoner  to  the  ga- 
ohupinos.  They  have  carried  him  to 
Santa  Fe  in  order  to  put  him  to  death, 
and  deprive  the  Indians  of  the  last 
iriend^ft  them." 

"  And  what  does  my  brother  want  ?" 
"  1  wish  to  save  my  friend." 
"  Good  !"  the  chief  answered.     "  My 
brother  claims  my   help  to  succeed  in 
that  project,  I  suppose  ?" 
"Yes." 

"  Good  !  The  descendant  of  the  Tla- 
toanis  shall  be  saved.  My  brother  can 
feel  reassured." 

"  I  can  count,  then,  on  my  brother's 
aid  ?"  Valentine  asked  quickly. 
The  chief  smiled. 

"  Unicorn  holds  in  his  hands  Span 
iards  who  will  answer  for  the  life  of  the 
prisoner." 

"  That  is  true  !"  Valentine  exclaimed 
as  he  struck  his  forehead.  "  Your 
idea  is  a  good  one,  chief." 

"  My  brother  will  leave  me  to  act.  I 
answer  for  success  on  my  head." 

"  Caramba  !  act  as  you  please,  chief. 
Still,  were  it  only  form's  sake,  1  should 
not  be  sorry  to  know  what  you  intend 
doing." 

"  My  brother  has  a  white  skin,  but 
his  heart  is    Indian.     Let    him  trust  to 
the  prudence  of  a  chief;   Unicorn  knows 
how  to  treat  with  the  gachupinus." 
"  Doubtless." 
"Unicorn    will   go   to   Santa   Fe  to 


speak  with  the  chief  of  the  white  men." 
Valentine  looked    at  him    in  amaze 
ment.     The  chief  smiled. 

"  Have  I  not  hostages?"  he  said. 
"  That  is  true,"  Valemine  remarked. 
The  chief  went  on  : 
"  The  Spaniards  are  like  chattering 
old  women,  prodigal  of  seductive  words, 
but  Unicorn  knows  them.  How  many 
times  already  has  he  trodden  the  war 
path  on  their  territory  at  the  head  of 
liis  warriors  !  They  will  not  dare  to 
deceive  him.  Ere  the  sun  has  twice 
accomplished  its  revolution  round  the 
tortoise  whose  immense  shell  supports 
the  world,  the  chief  of  the  Comanches 
will  carry  the  bloody  arrows  to  the 
whites,  and  propose  to  them  peace  or 
war.  Is  my  brother  satisfied  ]" 

"  J  am.  My  heart  is  full  of  gratitude 
toward  rny  red  brother." 

"Good!  What  is  that  to  Unicorn  ? 
Less  than  nothing.  Has  my  brother 
anything  else  to  ask  of  me  ?" 

"  One  thing  more." 

"  Let  rny  brother  explain  himself  as 
quickly  as  possible,  that  no  cloud  may 
•emain  between  him  and  his  red  broth' 

"  I  will  do  so.  Men  without  fear  of 
he  Great  Spirit,  urged  by  some  mad 
lesire,  have  carried  off  Dona  Clara,  the 
laughter  of  the  white  chief  whom  my 
jrother  pledged  to  save." 

"  W  ho  are  these  ?  Does  my  broth- 
r  know  them  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  know  them  only  too  well. 
?hey  are  bandits,  at  the  head  of  whom 
s  a  monster  with  a  human  lace,  called 
led  Cedar." 

At    this    name    the    Indian    started 
lightly,  his  eye  flashed  fire,  and  a  deep 
wrinkle  hollowed  his  forehead. 

"  Red  Cedar  is  a  ferocious  jaguar,"  he 
aid  with  concentrated  passion.  "  He 
as  made  himself  the  scourge  of  the  In 
ians,  whose  scalps  he  desires.  This 
nan  has  no  pity  either  for  women  or 
hildren,  but  he  possesses  no  courage  : 
e  only  attacks  his  enemies  in  the  dark, 
wenty  against  one,  and  when  he  is  sure 
f  meeting  with  no  resistance." 

<v  My  brother  knows  this  man,  I  see." 

"  And  this  man  has  carried  off  the 
vhite  gazelle  ? ' 

1  Yes." 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


121 


"  Good  !  My  brother  wishes  to  know 
what  Red  Cedar  has  done  with  his  pris 
oner  ?" 

"  [  do  wish  it." 

The  Indian  rose. 

"Time  is  slipping  away,"  he  said. 
"Unicorn  will  return  to  his  friends. 
My  brother  the  hunter  need  not  feel 
alarmed  :  a  chief  is  watching." 

After  uttering  these  few  words  the 
chief  went  down  into  the  cavern 
mounted  his  horse,  and  disappeared  in 
direction  of  the  desert. 

Valentine  had  every  reason  to  be 
satisfied  with  his  interview  with  the 
Comanche  chief;  but  Father  Seraphin 
was  less  pleased  than  the  hunter.  The 
worthy  priest,  both  through  his  nature 
and  his  vocation,  was  not  disposed  to 
employ  violent  measures,  which  were 
repugnant  to  him  :  he  would  have  liked, 
were  it  possible,  to  settle  everything  by 
gentleness,  and  without  running  the  risk 
of  bloodshed. 

Three  weeks  elapsed,  however,  ere 
Unicorn  appeared  to  be  effectually  car 
rying  out  the  plan  he  had  explained  to 
Valentine,  who  only  learnt  indirectly 
'that  a  strong  party  of  Cornanche  war 
riors  had  invaded  the  Mexican  frontiers. 

Father  Seraphiu,  though  not  yet  com 
pletely  cured,  had  insisted  on  proceed 
ing  to  Santa  Fe  to  take  some  steps  to 
save  Don  Miguel,  whose  tri  1  had  gone 
on  rapidly,  who  was  on  the  point  of  be 
ing  executed. 

For  his  part  Don  Pablo,  half  mad 
with  uneasiness,  also  insisted,  in  spite 
of  Valentine's  entreaties  and  remarks, 
on  entering  Santa  Fe  furtively,  and  try 
ing  to  see  his  father. 

The  night  on  which  we  fuund  Valen 
tine  in  the  clearing  Unicorn  visited  him 
for  the  first  time  in  a  month  :  he 
came  to  inform  him  of  the  success  of 
the  measures  he  had  taken. 

Valentine,  used  to  Indian  habits,  un 
derstood  half  a  word  :  hence  he  had 
not  hesitated  to  announce  to  Don 
Pablo  as  a  positive  fact  that  his  father 
would  soou  be  free. 


CHAPTER  xxxir. 

THE    PRISON. 

DON  MIGUEL  had  been  transferred  to 
the  prison  of  Santa  Fe. 

Europeans,  accustomed  to  philan-* 
throphic  manners,  and  regarding  human 
life  as  of  some  value,  cannot  imagine 
what  atrocities  the  word  "prison"  con 
tains  in  Mexico.  In  countries  beyond 
sea  the  penitentiary  system  is  not  even 
in  its  infancy ;  for  it  is  completely 
ignored,  and  has  not  even  been  sug 
gested  yet.  With  the  exception  of  the 
United  States,  prisons  are  in  America 
what  the)'  were  at  the  period  of  the 
Spanish  dominion  ;  that  is  to  say,  filthy 
dens,  where  the  wretched  prisoners 
suffer  a  thousand  tortures. 

Among  ourselves,  so  long  as  a  .man 
is  not  proved  guilty,  he  is  assumed  to 
be  innocent;  but  over  there,  so  soon 
as  a  man  is  arrested,  he  is  considered 
guilty,  and  consequently  every  consider 
ation  and  all  pity  vanish,  to  make  room 
for  brutal  and  barbarous  treatment. 
Thrown  on  a  little  straw  in  fetid  holes, 
often  inhabited  by  serpents  and  other 
unclean  animals,  the  prisoners  have 
more  than  once  been  found  dead  at  the 
expiration  of  twenty-four  hours,  and 
half  devoured.  We  have  witnessed 
scores  of  times  atrocious  tortures  in 
flicted  by  coarse  and  cruel  soldiers  on 
poor  fellows  whose  crimes,  in  our  coun 
try,  would  have  merited  a  slight  chastise 
ment  at  the  most.  Still,  in  the  great 
centres  of  populations,  the  prisons  are 
better  managed  than  in  the  towns  and 
villages  ;  and  in  this  land,  where  money 
is  the  most  powerful  lever,  a  rich  man 
easily  succeeds  in  obtaining  all  he  wishes, 
and  rendering  his  position  at  any  rate 
to.erabie. 

Don  Miguel  and  General  Ibauez  had 
managed  to  be  confined  together  by  the 
expenditure  of  many  entreaties  and  a 
neavy  sum  of  gold.  They  inhabited 
;wo  wretched  rooms,  the  entire  furni 
ture  of  which  consisted  in  a  halting  table, 
a  few  leather-covered  butaccas,  and  two 
benches  which  served  them  as  beds. 
These  two  men,  so  powerful  by  nature, 
lad  endured  without  complaint  all  the 
lumiliation  aud  insults  inflicted  on  them 


122 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


during  their  trial,  resolved  to  die  as 
they  had  lived,  with  head  erect  and  firm 
heart,  without  giving  the  judges  who 
had  condemned  them  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  them  turn  weak  at  the  last  mo- 
ment. 

It  was  toward  evening  of  the  same 
day  on  which  we  saw  Valentine  in  the 
clearing.  Darkness  fell  rapidly,  and 
the  only  window,  a  species  of  narrow 
slit  that  served  to  light  the  prison,  al 
lowed  but  a  weak  and  dubious  light  to 
penetrate. 

Don  Miguel  was  walking  with  long 
strides  up  and  down  his  prison,  while 
the  general,  carelessly  reclining  on  one 
of  the  benches,  quietly  smoking  his 
cigarette,watching  with  childish  pleasure 
the  light  clouds  of  bluish  smoke  which 
rose  in  a  spiral  to  the  ceiling,  and  which 
he  constantly  blew  asunder. 

"  Well,"  Don  Miguel  said  all  at  once, 
"  it  seems  it  is  not  for  to-day  either." 

"  Yes,"  the  general  said,  "  unless 
(though  I  do  not  believe  it)  they  wish 
to  do  us  the  honor  of  a  torchlight  exe 
cution." 

"  Can  you  at  all  account  for  this  de- 
lay?" 

"  On  my  honor,  no.  I  have  ransacked 
my  brains  in  vain  to  guess  the  reason 
that  prevents  them  shooting  us,  and  I 
have  given  it  up  as  a  bad  job." 

"  Same  with  me.  At  first  I  fancied 
they  were  trying  to  frighten  us  by  the 
continued  apprehension  of  death  con 
stantly  suspended  over  our  heads  like 
another  sword  of  Damocles  ;  but  this 
idea  seemed  to  me  too  absurd." 

"  I  am  entirely  of  your  opinion:  still 
something  extraordinary  must  be  occur- 
ring." 

"  What  makes  you  suppose  that?" 

"  Why,  for  the  last  two  days  our 
worthy  jailer,  Tio  Quesada,  has  become, 
not  polite  to  us — for  that  is  impossible 
— but  less  brutal.  I  noticed  that  he 
has  drawn  in  his  claws,  and  attempted 
a  grin.  It  is  true  that  his  face  is  so 
little  accustomed  to  assume  that  expres 
sion,  that  the. only  result  he  obtains  is 
to  make  a  wretched  grimace." 

"  And  you  conclude  from  that?" 

"  Nothing  positive,"  the  general  said. 
"  Still  I  ask  myself  whence  comes  this 
incomprehensible  change.  It  would  be 


as  absurd  to  attribute  it  to  the  pity  he 
feels  for  our  position  as  to  suppose  the 
governor  will  come  to  ask  our  pardon 
for  having  tried  and  condemned  us." 

"  Eh  ?"  Don  Miguel  said  with  a  toss 
of  his  head.  "  All  is  not  over — we  are 
not  dead  yet." 

"  That  is  true  ;  but  keep  your  mind 
at  rest — we  shall  be  so  soon." 

"  Our  life  is  in  God's  hands.  He 
will  dispose  of  it  at  His  pleasure." 

"  Amen !"  the  general  said  with  a 
laugh,  as  he  rolled  a  fresh  cigarette. 

"  Do  you  not  consider  it  extraordi 
nary  that,  during  the  whole  month  we 
have  been  here,  our  friends  have  not 
given  a  sign  of  life  ?" 

The  general  shrugged  his  shoulders 
carelessly. 

"  Hum  !"  he  said,  "  a  prisoner  is  very 
sick,  and  our  friends  doubtless  feared 
to  make  us  worse  by  the  sight  of  their 
grief:  that  is  why  they  have  deprived 

themselves  of  the  pleasure  of  visitin^ 
»  B 

us. 

'•'  Do  not  jest,  general.  You  accuse 
them  wrongfully,  i  feel  convinced." 

"  May  Heaven    grant  it !     For   my 
part,  1   heartily  forgive   them  their   in 
difference,  and    the    oblivion    in  which  j 
they  have  left  us." 

"I  cannot  believe  that  Don  Valentine, 
that  true-hearted  and  noble-minded  man, 
for  whom  I  ever  felt  so  deep  a  friend 
ship,  has  not  tried  to  see  me." 

"  Bah  !  How,  Don  Miguel,  can  you, 
so  near  death  as  you  are,  still  believe  in 
honorable  feelings  in  any  man  ?" 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  great 
clash  of  iron  outside,  and  the  door  of  the 
room  was  opened  sufficiently  to  afford 
passage  to  the  jailer,  who  preceded 
another  person.  The  almost  complete 
obscurity  that  prevailed  in  the  prison 
prevented  the  condemned  men  from  re 
cognising  the  visitor,  who  wore  a  long 
black  gown. 

"  Eh,  eh  !"  the  general  muttered  in 
bis  comrade's  ear,  "  I  believe  that  Gene 
ral  Ventura,  our  amiable  governor,  has 
at  length  made  up  his  mind." 

"  Why  so?"  Don  Miguel  asked  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  Canaries !  he  has  sent  us  a  priest, 
which  means  that  we  shall  be  executed 
to-morrow." 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


123 


"  On  my  word,  all  the  better,"  Don 
Miguel  could  not  refrain  from  saying. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  jailer,  a  short, 
thick-set  man,  with  a  ferret  face  and 
cunning  eye,  had  turned  to  the  priest, 
•whom  he  invited  to  enter,  saying  in  a 
hoarse  voice  : 

"  Here  it  is,  senor  padre  :  these  are 
the  condemned  persons." 

"  Will  you  leave  us  alone,  my  friend  ?'' 
the  stranger  said. 

"  Will  you  have  my  lantern  ?  It  is 
getting  dark,  and  when  people  are  talk 
ing  they  like  to  see  one  another." 

"  Thanks  ;  you  can  do  so.  You  will 
open  when  I  call  you  by  tapping  at  the 
door." 

"  All  right — I  will  do  so  ;"  and  he 
turned  to  the  condemned,  to  whom  he 
said  savagely,  "  Well,  senores,  here  is  a 
priest.  Take  advantage  of  his  services 
now  you  have  got  him.  In  your  posi 
tion  there  is  no  knowing  what  may  hap 
pen  from  one  moment  to  the  other." 

The  prisoners  shrugged  their  shoul 
ders  contemptuously,  but  made  no  re- 

p!y- 

The  jailer  went  out. 

When  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  had 
died  away  in  the  distance,  the  priest, 
who  had  till  this  moment  stood  with  his 
body  bent  forward  and  his  ear  on  the 
watch,  drew  himself  up,  and  walked 
straight  to  Don  Miguel.  This  manoeu 
vre  on  the  part  of  the  stranger  sur 
prised  the  two  gentlemen,  who  anxious 
ly  awaited  what  was  about  to  happen. 
The  lantern  left  by  the  jailer  only 
spread  a  faint  and  flickering1  light, 
scarcely  sufficient  to  distinguish  objects. 

"  My  father,"  the  haciendero  said  in 
a  firm  voice,  "  I  thank  the  person  who 
sent  you  to  prepare  me  £>r  death,  for  I 
anxiously  wished  to  fulfil  my  duties  as 
a  Christian  before  being  executed.  If 
you  will  proceed  with  me  into  the  ad 
joining  room  1  will  confess  my  sins  to 
you:  they  are  those  which  an  honest 
man  ordinarily  commits;  for  rny  heart 
is  pure,  and  I  have  nothing  to  reproach 
myself  with." 

The  priest  took  off  his  hat,  seized  the 
lantern,  and  placed  it  near  his  pale  face, 
whose  noble  and  gentle  features  were 
suddenly  displayed  in  the  light. 

"  Father   Seraphin  !"    the    prisoners 


exclaimed  with  a  surprise  mingled  with 

j°y- 

"  Silence  !"  the  priest  ordered  quick 
ly.  "  Dp  not  pronounce  my  name  so 
loudly,  brothers :  every  one  is  ignorant 
of  my  being  here  except  the  jailer,  who 
is  my  confidant." 

"  He  !"  Don  Miguel  said  with  a 
stupor ;  "  the  man  who  has  been  insult 
ing  and  humiliating  us  during  a 
month  !" 

"  That  man  is  henceforth  ours. 
Lose  no  time,  come.  I  have  secure 
means  to  get  you  out  of  prison,  and  to 
leave  the  town  ere  your  evasion  can  be 
even  suspected  :  the  horses  are  pre 
pared  —  an  escort  is  awaiting  you. 
Come,  gentlemen,  for  the  moments  are 
precious." 

The  two  prisoners  interchanged  a 
glance  of  sublime  eloquence  ;  then 
General  Ibanez  quietly  seated  himself 
on  a  butacca,  while  Don  Miguel  re 
plied  :  I 

"  Thanks,  my  father.  You  have  un 
dertaken  the  noble  task  of  soothing  all 
sorrow,  and  you  do  not  wish  to  fail  in 
your  duty.  Thanks  for  the  offer  you 
make  us,  which  we  cannot,  however, 
accept.  Men  like  us  must  not  give  our 
enemies  right  by  flying  like  criminals. 
We  fought  for  a  sacred  principle,  and 
succumbed.  We  owe  it  to  our  coun 
trymen  and  to  ourselves  to  endure 
death  bravely.  When  we  conspired 
we  were  perfectly  well  aware  of  what 
awaited  us  if  we  were  conquered. 
Once  again,  thanks;  but  we  will  only 
quit  this  prison  as  free  men,  or  to  walk 
to  punishment." 

"  I  have  not  the  courage,  gentlemen, 
to  blame  your  heroic  resolution  :  in  a 
similar  case  I  should  act  as  you  are 
doing.  You  have  a  very  slight  hope 
still  left,  so  wait.  Perchance,  within  a 
few  hours,  unforeseen  events  will  occur 
to  change  the  face  of  matters." 

"  We  hope  for  nothing  more,  my 
father." 

"  That  word  is  a  blasphemy  in  your 
mouth,  Don  Miguel.  God  can  do  all 
He  wills.  Hope,  I  tell  you." 

"  I  am  wrong,  father  :  forgive  me." 

"  Now  I  am  ready  to  hear  your  con 
fession." 

The  prisoners  bowed.     Father  Sera- 


124 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


phin  shrived    them    in    turn,  and  gave 
them  absolution. 

"  Hola !"   the  jailer  shouted  through 
the  door.     "  Make  haste  ;   it   is  gettiti 
late.     It  will    soon    be    impossible    to 
icuve  the  city." 

"  Open  the  door,"  the  missionary 
said  in  a  firm  voice. 

The  jailer  appeared. 

"  Well  ]'•'  he  asked. 

"  Light  me  and  lead  me  out  of  the 
prison.  These  caballeros  refuse  to  pro 
fit  by  the  chance  of  safety  1  came  to 
offer  them." 

The  jailer  shook  his  head  and  shrug 
ged  his  shoulders. 

"  They  are  mad,"  he  said. 

And  he  went  out,  followed  by  the 
priest,  who  turned  on  the  threshold  and 
pointed  to  heaven. 

The  prisoners  remained  alone. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE    EMBASSY. 

ON  the  selfsame  day  that  Father 
Seraphin  went  to  the  prison  to  propose 
an  escape  to  the  condemned,  a  very 
strange  circumstance  had  aroused  the 
entire  population  of  Santa  Fe. 

At  about  mid-day,  at  the  moment 
when  the  inhabitants  were  enjoying- 
their  siesta,  and  the  streets,  calcined  by 
'the  beams  of  a  tropical  sun,  were 
completely  deserted,  a  formidable 
whoop,  the  terrible  war-yell  of  the 
Comanche  Indians,  burst  forth  at  the 
entrance  of  the  town. 

There  was  a  general  alarm,  and 
everybody  barricaded  himself  in  his 
house,  believing  in  a  sudden  assault  of 
the  savages.  Presently  an  immense 
clamor,  and  cries  of  distress  and  des 
pair  uttered  by  a  terrified  population, 
could  be  heard  throughout  the  town. 
Several  times  already  the  Comanches. 
.  in  their  periodical  incursions,  had  come 
near  Santa  Fe,  but  never  so  closely  as 
this  ti'me  ;  and  the  remembrance  of  the 
cruelties  they  had  practised  on  the  hap 
less  Spaniards  who  fell  into  their  hands 
was  still  present  to  every  mind. 

lu   the  meanwhile  a  few  inhabitants, 


bolder  than  the  rest,  or  having  nothing 
to  lose,  proceeded  with  the  greatest 
precautions  toward  the  spot  whence  the 
shouts  were  heard  ;  and  a  singular 
spectacle  presented  itself. 

A  detachment  of  dismounted  Co  man. 
che,  warriors,  about  two  hundred  strong, 
was  marching  in  close  column,  flanked 
on  either  wing  by  two  troops,  each  of 
fifty  horse.  About  twenty  paces  in 
front  caracoled  Unicorn. 

All  these  men  had  a  martial  aspect 
which  was  really  remarkable  :  all  were 
strangely  painted,  well  adorned,  and  in 
their  full  war  costume.  The  horsemen 
were  loaded  with  all  sorts  of  arms  and 
ornaments  :  they  had  a  bow  and  quiver 
on  their  backs,  their  guns  slung  and  de 
corated  with  their  medicine  bags,  and 
their  lances  in  their  hands.  They  were 
crowned  with  magnificent  black  and 
white  eagle  feathers,  with  a  falling  tuft. 
The  upper  part  of  the  body,  otht-rwise 
naked,  was  covered  by  a  coyote  skin 
rolled  up  and  worn  across  the  shoulder; 
their  bucklers  were  ornamented  with 
feathers,  cloth  of  different  colors,  and 
human  scalps.  They  were  seated  on 
handsome  saddle-cloth  of  panthers' 
skins,  lined  with  red,  which  almost 
covered  the  horses'  backs.  According 
to  the  prairie  fashion,  they  had  no 
stirrups. 

Unicorn  brandished  in  his  right  hand 
the  long  medicine  lance,  the  distinctive 
mark  of  the  powerful  "  dance  of  the 
prairie  dogs."  It  was  a  staff  in  the 
shape  of  a  crook,  covered  with  an  otter 
skin,  and  decorated  through  its  entire 
length  with  owl  feathers. 

This  talisman,  which  he  had  inherited, 
possessed  the  power  of  bringing  under 
his  orders  all  the  warriors  of  his  nation 
scattered  over  the  prairies  :  hence  on 
all  grand  occasions  he  never  failed  to 
carry  it. 

He  wore  a  shirt  made  of  the  skin  of 
the  bighorn,  embroidered  on  the  sleeves 
with  blue  flowers,  and   adorned  on  the 
right  arm  with  long   stripes  of  rolled 
rmine  and  red  feathers,  and  on  the  left 
arm  with  long -tresses  of  black  hair  cut 
"rom  the  scalps    he   had    raised.     Over 
:iis  shoulders  he  had  thrown  a  cloak  of 
gazelle    skin,   having    at    each    end   an. 
normous  tuft  of  ermine.     On  his  fore- 


THE    TRAIL-HUXTER. 


125 


head  the  chief  had  fastened  two  buflai 
horns,  which  with  the  blue,  red,  am 
green  paint  plastered  on  his  face,  gav 
him  a  terrible  aspect. 

His  magnificent  horse,'a  mustang  ful 
of  fire,  which  he   managed  with   inimit 
able  grace  and  skill,  was  painted  red  in 
different    fashions:    on    its    legs    were 
stripes  like  a  zebra,  and  on  either  sid 
the    back-bone    were    designed    arrow 
head*,   lances,    beavers,   tortoises,    &c 
The  same  was  the  case  with  the  face  ant 
the  haunches. 

There  was  something  at  once  impos 
ing  and  striking  in  the  appearance  pre 
sented  by  this  band  of  ferocious  war 
riors  as  they  advanced  though  the 
deserted  streets  of  the  city,  brandishin 
their  tremendous  weapons,  and  uttering 
at  intervals  their  sinister  war-cry,  which 
they  accompanied  by  the  shrill  sound  of 
long  whistles  made  of  human  thigh 
bones,  which  they  wore  suspended  by 
strips  of  wild-beast  hide. 

By  this  time  the  Comanches  had 
penetrated  to  the  heart  of  the  city, 
driving  before  them,  though  without 
violence,  the  few  inhabitants  who  had 
ventured  to  get  in  their  way.  They 
marched  in  good  order,  not  turning  to 
the  right  or  left  to  plunder,  and  doing 
no  ivprehensive  action. 

The  Spaniards,  more  and  more  sur 
prised  at  the  haughty  and  bold  attitude 
of  the  Indians,  and  their  exemplary  con 
duct,  asked  themselves  with  terror  what 
these  men  wanted,  and  what  reason  had 
led  them  to  invade  their  frontiers  in  so 
sudden  and  secret  a  way,  that  the  scouts 
the  Mexican  Government  pays  to  watch 
them  had  no  knowledge  of  their  march. 
As  usually  happens  in  such  cases, 
terror  gradually  gave  way  to  curiosity. 
In  the  first  place  the  leperos  and  ad 
venturers  dared  to  approach  the  Indians; 
then  the  inhabitants,  if  not  completely 
tranquilUed,  still  reassured  by  their 
peaceful  attitude,  mingled  with  the 
groups ;  so  that  when  the  Comanche 
war-party  arrived  on  the  Plaza  Mayor 
it  was  followed  by  a  crowd  of  Spaniards, 
who  regarded  them  with  the  restless 
and  stupid  curiosity  only  to  be  found 
among  the  masses. 

The  Comauches  did   not  appear   to 
8 


notice  the  excitement  they  created.  As 
soon  as  they  were  on  the  Plaza  Mayor 
they  halted,  and  remained  motionless, 
as  if  their  feet  had  suddenly  grown  to 
the  ground. 

Unicorn  made  a  sign  with  his  talisman  ; 
a  warrior  quitted  the  ranks,  and  rode  up 
to  the  sentry  standing  in  front  of  the 
governor's  palace,  who  regarded  the 
singular  scene  with  a  dazed  air. 

"  VVah  !"  the  Indian  said  sarcastically, 
as  he  lightly  touched  the  soldier  with 
the  end  of  his  lance.  "  Is  my  brother; 
asleep,  that  he  does  not  hear  a  warrior' 
addressing  him  ?" 

"1  am  not  asleep,"  the  soldier  an- 
swered,  as  he  fell  back  a  pace.  "  What 
do  you  want?" 

"  The  great  sachem  of  the  Comanches, 
the  cacique  whom  the  red  children  call 
Haboutzelze,  has  come  to  speak  to  his 
great  white  father,  the  chief  of  the  fron 
tier  palefaces." 

"  What  does  he  want  with  him  ?"  the 
soldier  asked,  not  knowing  what  he  said, 
so  much  had  the  unexpected  sight  of  the 
redskin  disturbed  him. 

'•  Is  my  brother  a  chief?"  the  Indian 
asked  cunningly. 

"  No,"  the  soldier  answered,  greatly 
onfused  by  this  lesson. 

"  Well,  then,  let  him  close  his  ears 
as  regards  those  the  Great  Spirit  has 
set  above  him,  and  deliver  the  message 
.  give  him  in  the  sachem's  name." 

While  the  Comanche  was  exchanging 
hese  few  words  with    the    sentry,  sev- 
sral   persons,  drawn   out  of  the    palace 
>y  the  unusual  disturbance  they  heard, 
ningled  with  the  crowd.     Among  them 
vere  several  officers,  one  of  whom   ad- 
anced  to  the  Indian  horseman. 
"  What  does  my  brother  want]"  he 
asked  him. 

The  warrior  saw  at  the  first  glance 
hat  this  time  he  had  to  do  with  a  eh  ef. 
le  bowed  courteously,  and  answered  . 

"  A  deputation  of  the  great   Coman- 

he  nation  desires   to  be  introduced  to 

11  y  great  white  father."  • 

"Good  !     But  all  the  warriors  cannot 

liter  the  palace,"  the  officer  said.' 

"  My  brother  is  right.  Their  chiefs 
lone  will  go  in  :  their  young  men  will 
wait  them  here." 


126 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


"  Let  my  brother  be  patient.  I  will 
go  and  deliver  his  message  in  all  haste." 

"  Good  !  My  brother  is  a  chief.  The 
Spider  will  await  him." 

The  officer  disappeared  in  the  inte 
rior,  while  the  Spider  planted  the  end 
of  his  long  lance  in  the  ground,  and  re 
mained  with  his  eye  fixed  on  the  gate  of 
the  palace,  not  evincing  the  slightest 
impatience. 

The  new  governor  of  Santa  Fe  was 
.1  general  of  the  name  of  Don  Benito 
Ventura.  He  was  ignorant  as  a  fish, 
stupid  and  haughty  as  a  heathcock. 
Like  the  majority  of  his  colleagues  in 
this  eccentric  country,  he  hud  gained  his 
general's  epaulettes  by  repeated  pro- 
nounciamentos,  managing  to  gain  a  step 
by  every  revolution,  while  never  hav 
ing  seen  more  fire  than  that  of  the  thin 
husk  pajillo  he  constantly  had  in  his 
mouth. 

To  sum  him  up,  he  was  very  rich,  a 
wonderful  coward,  and  more  afraid  of 
blows  than  aught  else  in  the  world. 
Such  he  was  morally  :  physically  he 
was  a  plump  little  man,  round  as  a  bar 
rel,  with  a  rubicund  face,  lighted  up  by 
two  small  grey  eyes. 

This  worthy  officer  perspired  water 
and  blood  when  the  duties  of  his  station 
obliged  him  to  put  on  the  uniform, 
every  seam  of  which  was  overlaid  with 
gold  lace  :  his  chest  liberally  disappear 
ed  under  the  infinity  of  crosses  of  every 
description  with  which  each  president 
had  honored  him  on  attaining  power. 
In  a  word,  General  VTentura  was  a  wor 
thy  man,  as  fit  to  be  a  soldier  as  he 
was  to  be  a  cardinal  ;  and  he  had  only 
one  ol»ject,  that  of  being  President  of 
the  Republic  in  his  turn ;  but  this  ob 
ject  he  ever  pursued  without  once 
swerving  from  his  path. 

If  he  accepted  the  governorship  of 
New  Mexico,  it  was  for  the  simple  rea 
son  that,  as  Santa  Fe  was  a  long  dis 
tance  from  Mexico,  he  had  calculated 


that  it  would  be  easy  for  him  to  make 
a  pronounciamento  in  his  own  favor,  and 
become,  ipso  facto,  president.  He  was 
not  aware,  on  coming  to  Santa  Fe,  that 
the  province  he  was  about  to  govern 
was  incessantly  menaced  by  Indian 
forays.  Had  he  known  it,  however  ad 
vantageous  the  post  of  governor  might 
be  for  his  schemes,  he  would  have  re 
fused  point  blank  so  perilous  an  honor. 

He  had  learned  with  the  utmost  ter 
ror  the  entrance  of  the  Comanches  into 
the  town,  and  when  the  officer  intrusted 
with  the  Spider's  message  presented 
himself  before  him  he  had  literally  lost 
his  head.  It  took  all  possible  trouble 
to  make  him  comprehend  that  the  In 
dians  came  as  friends,  that  they  merely 
wished  to  have  a  palaver  with  him,  and 
that  since  their  coming  their  conduct 
had  been  most  honorable  and  exempla 
ry. 

Fortunately  for  the  Spanish  honor, 
other  officers  entered  the  apartment  in 
which  was  the  governor,  attracted  to 
the  palace  by  the  news,  which  had 
spread  with  the  speed  of  a  train  of 
powder  through  Santa  Fe,  of  the  ap 
pearance  of  an  Indian  detachment. 

When  the  general  saw  himself  sur 
rounded  and  supported  by  the  officers 
of  his  staff  his  terror  was  slightly  toned 
down,  he  regained  his  presence  of  mind 
and  it  was  with  a  calm  and  almost  dig 
nified  demeanor  that  he  discussed  the 
question  whether  it  was  proper  to  re 
ceive  the  Indian  deputation,  and  in  what 
manner  it  should  be  done. 

The  other  officers,  who,  in  the  course 
of  their  professional  career,  had  had 
many  a  skirmish  with  the  redskins,  felt 
no  inclination  to  anger  them.  They 
produced  in  support  of  their  opinions 
such  peremptory  reasons,  that  General 
Ventura,  convinced  by  their  arguments 
gave  the  officer  who  brought  the  mes 
sage  orders  to  bring  the  three  principal 
Indian  chiefs  into  the  palace. 


THE   TRAIL-HUNTER. 


127 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE    PRESENTATION. 

IT  needed  the  thorough  knowledge 
the  Comanches  possessed  of  the  terror 
they  inspired  the  Mexicans  with  to  have 
dared  to  enter  in  so  small  a  body  a 
town  like  Santa  Fe,  where  they  might 
expect  to  find  a  considerable  garrison. 

The  general  officer  sent  by  General 
Ventura  had  performed  his  duty. 

Unicorn  and  two  other  chiefs  dis 
mounted,  and  followed  him  into  the 
palace;  while  the  Indian  warriors,  in 
spite  of  the  heat  of  the  sunbeams  that 
played  on  their  heads,  remained  mo 
tionless  on  the  spot  where  their  ca 
ciques  bade  them  wait. 

The  general  desired,  by  a  certain  dis 
play  of  strength,  to  impose  on  the  red 
skin  deputies;  but  unfortunately,  as  is 
always  the  case  in  Mexico,  the  garrison, 
which. on  paper  represented  eight  hun 
dred  men,  was  in  reality  only  composed 
of  sixty  at  the  most — a  very  small 
number  for  a  frontier  town,  especially 
under  the  present  circumstances.  But 
if  soldiers  were  lacking,  to  make  up  for 
it  tHere  was  no  paucity  of  officers  ;  for 
about  thirty  were  assembled  at  the 
palace,  which  allowrd  one  officer  to 
every  two  privates.  This  detail,  which 
might  appear  exaggerated,  is,  however, 
strictly  correct,  and  shows  in  what  a 
state  of  anarchy  this  hapless  country  is 
plunged. 

The  thirty  officers,  attired  in  their 
splendid  uniforms,  that  glistened  with 
gold  and  decorations,  were  arranged 
round  the  general,  while  three  posts  of 
ten  men  each  held  the  doors  of  the 
halls  of  reception. 

When  the  preparations  were  com 
pleted  the  ambassadors  were  introdu 
ced. 

The  Indian  qhiefs,  accustomed  for  a 
long  period  to  Spanish  luxury,  entered 
without  testifying  the  slightest  surprise. 
They  bowed  with  dignity  to  the  assem 
bly,  and,  crossing  their  arms  on  their 
chests,  waited  till  they  were  addressed. 

The  general  regarded  them  with  an 
astonishment  pardonable  enough,  for 
this  was  the  first  time  he  had  found  him 
self  in  the  presence  of  these  untamable 


redskins,  whose  terrible  renown  had  so 
often  made  him  shudder. 

"  What  reason  can  have  been  so 
powerful  as  to  oblige  my  sons  to  come 
and  see  me  ?"  he  asked  in  a  gracious 
and  conciliating  tone.  "  Let  them  make 
their  request,  and,  if  I  can  do  so,  1  shall 
be  most  ready  to  satisfy  it." 

This  opening,  which  t  le  governor  fan 
cied  to  be  very  politic,  was,  on  the  con 
trary,  most  awkward,  as  it  offended  the 
pride  of  those  he  addressed,  and  whom 
he  had  the  greatest  interest  in  humor 
ing. 

Unicorn  took  a  step  forward.  A  sar 
castic  smile  played  on  his  lips,  and  he 
replied  in  a  voice  slightly  tinged  with 
irony  : 

"  1  have  heard  a  parrot  speak.  Are 
the  words  addressed  to  me?" 

The  general  blushed  up  to  the  eyes 
at  this  insult,  which  he  did  not  dare  re 
taliate. 

"  The  chief  has  not  understood  my 
words,"  he  sail.  "  My  intentions  are 
good,  and  1  only  wish  to  be  agreeable 
to  him.'' 

"  The  Comanches  do  not  come  here 
to  ask  a  favor,"  Unicorn  answered 
haughtily.  "  They  know  how  to  avenge 
themselves  when  insulted." 

"  What  do  my  sons  want,  then?" 

"  To  treat  with  my  father  for  the 
ransom  of  the  white  chiefs  who  are  in 
heir  power.  Five  palefaces  inhabit  the 
cabin  of  the  Comanches.  The  young 
men  of  the  tribe  demand  their  punish- 
nent,  for  the  blood  of  the  palefaces  is 
agreeable  to  the  Master  of  Life.  To 
morrow  the  prisoners  will  have  ceased 
to  live  if  mv  father  does  not  buy  them 
off  to  day." 

After  these  words,  uttered  in  a  firm 
a'nd  peremptory  tone,  there  was  a  mo 
ment  of  supreme  silence.  The  Mexi 
can  officers  reflected  sadly  on  the  fear 
ful  fate  that  threatened  their  friends. 

Unicorn  continued  : 

"What  does  my  father  say?  Shall 
we  fasten  our  prisoners  to  the  stake  of 
blood,  or  restore  them  to  liberty  ?" 

"What  ransom  do  you  ask?"  the 
general  said. 

"  Listen,  all  you  chiefs  of  the  pale 
faces  here  present,  and  judge  of  the 
clemency  and  generosity  of  the  Coman- 


128 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


ches.     We  only,  wish,  for  the  life  of 
these  five  men,  the  life  of  two  men." 

"  That  is  little,  I  allow,"  the  general 
remarked  ;  "  and  who  are  the  two  men 
whose  lives  you  ask  ?" 

"  The  palefaces  call  them,  the  first, 
Don  Miguel  Zarate  ;  the  second,  Gene 
ral  Ibanez." 

The  general  started. 

"These  two  men  cannot  be  delivered 
to  you,"  he  answered;  "they  are  con 
demned  to  death,  and  will  die  to-mor 
row.'' 

"  Gdod  !  My  prisoners  will  be  tor 
tured  this  night,"  the  chief  replied 
stoically. 

"Confound  it!"  the  general  sharply 
exclaimed,  "  is  there  no  other  arrange 
ment  possible?  Let  my  brothers  ask 
me  a  thing  1  can  grant  them,  and " 

"  I  want  those  two  men,"  the  chief 
quickly  interrupted.  "  If  not,  my  war 
riors  will  themselves  deliver  them  ;  and 
in  that  case  the  Cornanche  chiefs  cannot 
prevent  the  injury  their  warriors  may 
commit  in  the  town." 

One  of  the  officers  present  at  this  in 
terview  was  aroused  by  the  tone  Uni 
corn  had  affected  since  the  beginning  of 
the  audience.  He  was  a  brave  old  sol 
dier,  and  the  cowardice  of  his  comrades 
shamed  him.  Pie  rose  at  this  point. 
1  "  Chief,"  he  said  in  a  firm  voice, 
"  your  words  are  very  haughty  and 
foolish  for  the  mouth  of  an  ambassador. 
You  are  here,  at  the  head  of  scarce  two 
hundred  warriors,  in  the  heart  of  a 
town  peopled  by  brave  men.  Despite 
all  my  desire  to  be  agreeable  to  you,  if 
you  do  not  pay  greater  respect  to  your 
audience,  prompt  and  severe  justice 
shall  be  inflicted  on  your  insolence." 

•  The  Indian  chief  turned  toward  the 
new  speaker,  whose  remarks  had  arous 
ed  a  sympathetic  murmur. 

"  My  words  are  those  of  a  man  who 
fears  nothing,  and  holds  in  his  hands  the 
life  of  five  men." 

"  Well,"  the  officer  retorted  sharply, 
"  what  do  we  care  for  them?  If  they 
were  such  fools  as  to  let  you  capture 
them,  they  must  suffer  the  consequen 
ces  of  their  madness  ;  we  cannot  pay 
for  them.  Besides,  as  you  have  alrea 
dy  been  told,  those  you  claim  must 
die." 


"  Good  !  We  will  retire,"  Unicorn 
said  haughtily.  "  Longer  discourse  is 
need  ess;  our  deeds  shall  speak  for  us." 

"A  moment!''  the  general  exclaim 
ed.  "All  may  yet  be  arranged.  An 
affair  like  the  present  cannot  be  settled 
all  in  a  hurry  ;  we  must  reflect  on  the 
propositions  made  to  us.  My  son  is  a 
chief,  and  will  grant  us  reasonable  time 
to  offer  him  a  reply." 

Unicorn  bent  a  suspicious  glance  on 
the  governor. 

"  My  father  has  spoken  wisely,"  he 
presently  m&de  answer.  "  To-morrow 
at  the  twelfth  hour,  I  will  come  for  the 
final  answer  of  the  pale-faces.  But  my 
father  will  promise  me  not  to  order  the 
punishment  of  the  prisoners  till  he  has 
told  me  the  decision  he  has  come  to." 

"  Be  it  so,"  the  general  answered. 
"  But  what  will  the  Comanches  do  till 
then  V' 

"They  will  leave  the  town  as  they 
entered  it,  and  bivouac  on  the  plain." 

"  Agreed  on." 

"  The  Master  of  Life  has  heard  my 
father's  promise.  If  he  break  his  word 
and  possess  a  forked  tongue,  the  blood 
shed  will  fall  on  his  head." 

The  Comanche  uttered  these  words 
in  a  significant  tone  that  made  the  gen 
eral  tremble  inwardly ;  then  he  bowed 
to  the  assembly,  and,  left  the  hall  with 
his  companions.  On  reaching  the 
square  the  chiefs  remounted  their  horses 
and  placed  themselves  at  the  head  of 
their  warriors.  An  hour  later  the 
Comanches  had  left  the  town,  and  carnp- 
ed  within  two  gun-shots  of  the  walls,  on 
the  banks  of  the  river. 

It  was  after  this  interview  that  Uni 
corn  had  the  conversation  with  Valen 
tine  which  we  recently  described. 

Still,  when  the  Mexican  officers  were 
alone  with  the  general,  their  courage 
returned  all  at  once,  and  they  reproach 
ed  him  for  the  little  dignity  he  had  dis 
played  before  the  Indian's,  and  specially 
for  the  promise  he  had  made  them. 

The  general  listened  to  them  calmly, 
with  a  smile  on  his  lips,  and  contented 
himself  with  answering  them,  in  a  tone 
of  indescribable  meaning: 

"  The  promise  you  allude  to  pledges 
me  to  nothing.  Between  this  and  to 
morrow  certain  things  will  happen  to 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


129 


free  us  from  the  Comanches,  and  let  us 
dispense  with  surrendering  the  prison 
ers  they  demand  so  insolently." 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

PSYCHOLOGICAL. 

ABOUT  half  a  league  to  the  west  of 
Santa  Fe  three  men  and  a  woman  were 
seated  behind  a  dense  clump  of  trees, 
which  sheltered  while  rendering  them 
unseen,  over  a  bois-de-vache  fire,  supping 
with  good  appetite,  and  chatting  to 
gether. 

The  three  men  were  Red  Cedar's  sons ; 
the  female  was  Ellen. 

The  maiden  was  pale  and  sad  :  her 
dreamy  eye  wandered  around  with  a 
distraught  expression.  She  listened 
hardly  to  what  her  brothers  said,  and 
would  certainly  have  been  greatly  em 
barrassed  to  describe  the  conversation, 
for  her  mind  was  elsewhere. 

"  Hum  !"  Sutter  said,  "  what  the 
deuce  can  keep  the  old  one  so  long  ] 
He  told  us  he  should  be  back  by  four 
o'clock  at  the  latest ;  but  the  sun  is  just 
disappearing  on  the  horizon,  and  he  has 
not  come  yet." 

"  Pshaw  !"  Nathan  said  with  a  shrug 
of  the  shoulders.  "  Are  you  afraid  that 
something  has  happened  to  him  ?  The 
old  chap  has  beak  and  nails  to  defend 
himself;  and  since  his  last  turn  up  with 
Don  Miguel,  the  fellow  who  is  to  be 
shot  to-morrow  at  Santa  Fe,  he  has 
kept  on  his  guard." 

"  I  care  very  little,"  Sutter  replied 
brusquely,  "  whether  father  is  here  or 
not ;  but  I  believe  we  should  do  well 
not  to  wait  longer,  but  return  to  the 
camp,  where  our  presence  is  doubtless 
necessary." 

"  Nonsense  !     Our  comrades  can  do 

;  without  us,''  Shaw  observed.  "  We 
are  all  right  here,  so  suppose  we  stop 
the  night.  To-morrow  it  will  be  day. 
"Well,  if  father  has  not  returned  by  sun 
rise,  we  will  go  back  to  camp.  Harry 
and  Dick  can  keep  good  order  till  our 
return." 

"  In  truth,  Shaw  is  right,"  Nathan 
said.  "  Father  is  at  times  so  strange, 
that  he  might  be  angry  v/ith  us  for  not 


having  waited  for  him,  for  he  never 
does  anything  lightly.  If  he  told  us  to 
stay  here,  he  probably  had  his  reasons." 

"  Let  us  stay,  then,"  Sutter  remarked 
carelessly.  "  I  ask  for  nothing  better. 
We  shall  only  have  to  keep  the  fire  up, 
and  so  one  of  us  will  watch  while  the 
others  sleep." 

"  Agreed  on,"  Nathan  replied.  "  In 
that  way,  if  the  old  man  comes  during 
our  sleep,  he  will  see  that  we  waited 
for  him." 

The  three  brothers  rose. 

Sutter  and  Nathan  collected  a  pile  of 
dry  wood  to  maintain  the  fire,  while 
Shaw  intertwined  a  few  branches  to 
make  his  sister  a  sufficient  shelter  for 
the  night.  The  two  elder  brothers 
thrust  their  feet  toward  the  fire,  wrapped 
themselves  in  their  blankets,  and  went 
to  sleep,  after  advising  Shaw  to  keep  a 
bright  lookout,  not  only  against  wild 
beasts,  but  to  announce  the  old  squat 
ter's  approach. 

Shaw,  after  stirring  up  the  fire,  threw 
himself  at  the  foot  of  a  larch  tree,  and 
letting  his  head  sink  on  his  chest,  plung 
ed  into  deep  and  painful  meditation. 

This  poor  boy,  hardly  twenty  years 
of  age,  was  a  strange  composite  of  good 
and  evil  qualities. 

Reared  in  the  desert,  he  had  grown 
up  like  one  of  its  native  trees,  thrusting 
out  here  and  there  branches  full  of 
powerful  sap.  Nothing  had  ever  thwart 
ed  his  instincts,  no  matter  what  their 
nature  might  be.  Possessing  no  cog 
nizance  of  justice  and  injustice,  he  had 
never  been  able  to  appreciate  the  squat 
ter's  conduct,  or  see  the  injury  he  did 
society  by  the  life  he  led.  Habituated 
to  regard  as  belonging  to  himself  all 
that  he  wished  for,  allowing  himself  to 
be  guided  by  his  impressions  and 
caprices,  never  having  felt  any  other 
fetter  than  his  father's  despotic  will,  this 
young  man  had  at  once  a  nature  expan 
sive  and  reserved,  generous  and  avarici 
ous,  gentle  and  cruel  :  in  a  word,  he 
possessed  all  the  qualities  of  his  vices  ; 
but  he  was,  before  all,  a  man  of  sensa 
tions.  Endowed  with  "a  vast  intellect, 
extreme  audacity,  and  lively  compre 
hensions,  he  would  have  been  indubita 
bly  a  remarkable  man,  had  he  been  born 
in  a  different  position. 


130 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


His  sister  Ellen  was  the  only  mem 
ber  of  his  family  for  whom  he  expe 
rienced  sympathy  ;  and  yet  it  was  only 
with  extreme  reserve  that  he  intrusted 
his  boyish  secrets  to  her — secrets 
which,  during  the  last  few  days,  had  ac 
quired  an  importance  he  did  not  him 
self  suspect,  but  which  his  sister,  with 
the  innate  intelligence  of  woman,  had 
already  divined. 

SiuiAV,  as  we  have  said,  was  thinking. 
The  young  savage's  indomitable  nature 
revolted  against  an  unknown  force 
which  had  suddenly  sprung  up  in  his 
heart — mastered  and  subdued  him  in 
spite  of  all  his  efforts. 

He  was  in  love  !  lie  loved,  ignorant 
even  of  the  meaning  of  the  word  love, 
which  comprises  in  this  nether  world 
all  earthly  joy  and  suffering.  Vainly 
he  sought  to  explain  his  feelings  ;  but 
no  light  flashed  across  his  mind,  or  il 
lumined  the  darkness  of  his  heart.  He 
loved  without  desire  and  without  hope, 
involuntarily  obeying  that  divine  law 
which  compels  even  the  roughest  man 
to  seek  a  mate. 

He  was  dreaming  of  Dona  Clara. 
He  loved  her,  as  he  was  capable  of  lov 
ing,  with  that  passionate  impetuosity, 
that  violence  of  feeling,  to  which  his 
uncultivated  mind  adapted  him.  The 
sight  of  the  maiden  caused  him  a 
strange  trouble,  which  he  did  not  at 
tempt  to  account  for.  He  did  not 
try  to  analyse  his  feelings,  for  that 
would  have  been  impossible;  and  yet 
at  times  he  was  a  prey  to  cold  and  ter 
rible  fury,  when  thinking  that  the 
haughty  maiden,  who  was  even  uncon 
scious  of  his  existence,  would  probably 
only  spurn  and  despise  him  if  she  knew 
it. 

He  was  yielding  to  these  crushing 
thoughts,  when  he  suddenly  felt  a  hand 
laid  on  his  shoulder.  Ou  turning,  El 
len  stood  before  him,  upright  and  mo 
tionless,  like  the  white  apparitions  of 
the  German  legends.  He  raised  his 
head,  and  bent  an  inquiring  glance  on 
his  sister. 

"You  are  not -asleep,  Ellen  ?" 

"  No,"  she  answered  iu  a  voice  soft 
as  a  bird's  song.  "  Brother,  my  heart 
is  sad." 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Ellen]     Why 


not  enjoy  a  few  hours  of  that  repose  so 
necessary  for  you  ?" 

"  My  heart  is  sad,  I  tell  you,  broth 
er,"  she  went  on.  "  In  vain  do  I  seek 
sleep — it  flies  far  from  me." 

"  Sister,  tell  me  the  cause  of  your 
sufferings,  and  perhaps  I  can  appease 
the  grief  that  devours  you." 

"  Can  you  not  guess  it  ?" 

"  I  do  not  understand  you." 

She  looked  at  him  so  sternly  that  he 
could  not  let  his  eyes  fall. 

"On  the  contrary,  you  understand 
me  too  well,  Shaw,"  she  said  with  a 
sigh.  "  Your  heart  rejoices  at  this  mo 
ment  at  the  misfortune  of  the  woman 
you  should  defend." 

The  young  man  blushed. 

"  What  can  I  do?"  he  murmured 
faintly. 

"Everything,  if  you  have  the  firm 
will,"  she  exclaimed  energetically. 

"  No,"  Shaw  went  on,  shaking  his 
head  with  discouragement;  "the  per 
son  of  whom  you  speak  is  the  old  man's 
prisoner.  1  cannot  contend  against  my 
father." 

Ellen  smiled  contemptuously. 

"  You  seek  in  vain  to  hide  your 
thoughts  from  me,"  she  said  harshly. 
"  1  read  your  heart  as  an  open  book  : 
your  sorrow  is  feigned,  and  you  really 
rejoice  at  the  thought  that  in  future  you 
will  constantly  be  by  Dona  Clara's 
side." 

"  I !"  he  exclaimed  with  an  angry 
start. 

"Yes,  you  only  see  in  her  captivity 
a  means  to  approach  her.  Your  selfish 
heart  is  secretly  gladdened  by  that 
hope." 

"  You  are  harsh  to  me,  sister.  Hea 
ven  is  my  witness  that,  were  it  possible, 
I  would  at  once  restore  her  the  liberty 
torn  from  her." 

"  You  can  if  you  like." 

"  No,  it  is  impossible.  My  father 
watches  too  closely  over  his  prisoner." 

"  lie  will  not  distrust  you,  but  allow 
you  to  approach  her  freely." 

"  What  you  ask  of  me  is  impossible." 

"  Because  you  will  not,  Shuw.  Re- 
member  that  women  only  love  men  in 
proportion  to  the  sacrifices  they  make 
for  them  :  they  despise  cowards." 

"  But  how  to  save  her  ]" 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


131 


"  That  is  your  affair,  Shaw." 

"  At  least  give  me  some  advice  which 
vrill  help  me  to  escape  from  the  difficult 
position  in  which  I  find  myself." 

"  In  such  senous  circumstances  your 
heart  must  guide  you,  and  you  must 
only  ask  counsel  of  it." 

"  But  the  old  one  ?"  Shaw  said  hesi 
tatingly. 

"  Our  father  will  not  know  your 
movements.  1  take  on  myself  to  pre 
vent  him  noticing  them." 

"  Good  !"  the  young  man  remarked, 
half  convinced;  "but  I  do  not  know 
where  the  maiden  is  hidden." 

"  I  will  tell  you,  if  you  swear  to  do 
all  in  your  power  to  save  her." 

"  I  swear  to  obey  you,  Ellen.  If  I 
do  not  succeed  in  carrying  the  girl  off,  1 
will  at  any  rate  employ  all  my  intellect 
to  obtain  that  result.  Speak,  then, 
without  fear." 

"  Dona  Clara  is  confined  at  the  Rancho 
del  Coyote :  she  was  intrusted  to  An 
dres  Garote." 

"  Ah,  ah  !"  the  young  man  said,  as  if 
speaking  to  himself,  "  I  did  not  fancy 
her  so  near  us." 

"  You  will  save  her  ]" 

"  At  all  events  I  will  try  to  free  her 
from  the  hands  of  the  man  who  guards 
her." 

"  Good  !"  the  maiden  remarked  ;  "  I 
now  recognise  you.  Lose  no  time :  my 
father's  absence  alarms  me.  Perhaps 
at  this  moment  he  is  preparing  a  safer 
hiding-place  for  his  prisoner." 

"  Your  idea  is  excellent,  sister.  Who 
knows  whether  it  is  not  too  late  now  to 
tear  from  the  old  man  the  prey  he 
covets]" 

"  When  do  you  intend  to  start?" 

"  At  once  :  I  have  not  a  moment  to 
lose.  If  the  old  man  returned  I  should 
be  compelled  to  remain  here.  But  who 
will  keep  watch  while  my  brothers 
sleep  ]" 

"  I  will,"  the  maiden  answered  reso 
lutely. 

"  Whence  arises  the  interest  you  feel 
in  this  woman,  sister,  as  you  do  not 
know  her  ]"  the  young  man  asked  in 
surprise. 

"  She  is  a  woman,  and  unhappy.  Are 
not  those  reasons  sufficient]" 


"  Perhaps  so,"  Shaw  remarked  doubt 
fully. 

"  Child  !"  Ellen  muttered,  "  can  you 
not  read  in  your  own  heart  the  monve 
of  my  conduct  toward  this  stranger]" 

The  young  savage  started  at  this  re 
mark. 

"  It  is  true !"  he  exclaimed  passion 
ately.  V  Pardon  me,  sister!  I  am 
mad  ;  but  I  love  you,  and  you  know 
me  better  than  I  do  myself." 

And  rising  hurriedly,  he  kissed  his 
sister,  threw  his  rifle  over  his  shoulder, 
and  ran  off  in  the  direction  of  Sante  Fe. 

When  he  had  disappeared  in  the 
gloom,  and  tht;  sound  of  his  footsteps 
had  died  out  in  the  distance,  the  girl 
fell  on  the  ground,  muttering  in  a  low, 
sad  voice  : 

"  Will  he  succeed  ]" 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

DIAMOND    CUT    DIAMOND. 

RED  CEDAR  did  not  remain  long  un 
der  the  effect  of  the  startling  insult  he 
had  received.  Pride,  wrath,  and,  be 
fore  all,  the  desire  to  avenge  himself 
restored  his  strength,  and  a  few  min 
utes  after  Don  Pablo  Zarate's  departure 
the  squatter  had  regained  all  his  cool 
ness  and  audacity. 

"  You  see,  senor  padre,"  he  said,  ad 
dressing  the  monk,  "  that  our  little 
plans  are  known  to  our  enemies ;  we 
must,  therefore,  make  haste  if  we  do 
not  wish  to  see  persons  break  in  here, 
from  whom  it  is  of  the  utmost  import 
ance  to  conceal  ourselves.  To-morrow 
night  at  the  latest,  perhaps  before,  we 
shall  start.  DO  not  stir  from  here  till 
my  return.  Your  face  is  too  well 
known  at  Santa  Fe  for  you  to  venture 
to  show  it  in  the  streets  without  im 
prudence." 

"  Hum  !"  the  monk  muttered,  "  that 
demon,  whom  I  fancied  dead,  is  a  rude 
adversary.  Fortunately  we  shall  soon 
have  nothing  more  to  fear  from  his 
father,  for  1  hardly  know  how  we 
should  get  out  of  it." 

"  If  the  son  has   escaped  us,"    Red 


132 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


Cedar  said  with  an  ugly  smile,  "  that  is 
fortunately  not  the  case  with  the  father. 
Don't  be  alarmed  ;  Don  Miguel  will 
cause  us  no  further  embarrassment." 

"  I  wish  it  most  earnestly,  canaries  ! 
for  he  is  a  determined  man  ;  but  I  con 
fess  to  you  that  1  shall  not  be  entirely 
at  my  ease  till  1  have  seen  him  fall  be- 
ueath  the  bullets  of  the  soldiers." 

"  You  will  not  have  lonj;  to  wait. 
General  Ventura  has  ordered  me  to  go 
and  meet  the  regiment  of  dragoons  he 
expects,  in  order  to  hurry  them  on,  and 
bring  them  into  the  town  this  very 
night,  if  possible.  So  soon  as  the  gov 
ernor  has  an  imposing  force  at  his  dis 
posal  he  will  no  longer  fear  a  revolt  on 
the  part  of  the  troops,  and  give  the  or 
der  for  execution  without  delay." 

"  May  heaven  grant  it !  But,"  he 
added  with  a  sigh  of  regret,  "  what  a 
pity  that  most  of  our  scamps  deserted 
us  !  We  should  have  almost  arrived 
at  the  placer  by  this  time,  and  been 
safe  from  the  vengeance  of  our  ene 
mies." 

"Patience,  senor  padre;  all  is  for 
the  best,  perhaps,  trust  to  me.  Andres, 
Kiy  horse." 

"  You  will  start  at  once,  then  ?" 

"  Yes.  I  recommend  you  to  watch 
carefully  over  our  prisoner." 

The  monk  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Our  affairs  are  tolerably  well  em 
barrassed  already  ;  then  why  burden 
ourselves  with  a  woman  ?" 

The  squatter  frowned. 

"  That  is  my  business,"  he  exclaimed 
in  a  peremptory  tone.  "  Keep  all 
stupid  observations  to  yourself.  A 
thousand  devils !  I  know  what  1  am 
about.  That  woman  will  possibly 
prove  our  safeguard  at  a  later  date." 

And  mounting  his  horse,  Red  Cedar 
galloped  out  of  Santa  Fe. 

"  Hum  !"  Andres  Garote  said  as  he 
•watched  him  depart,  "  what  a  diaboli 
cal  eye !  Though  I  have  known  him 
several  years,  I  never  saw  him  like  that 
before.  How  will  all  this  end  T' 

Without  further  remarks  he  arranged 
matters  in  the  rancho,  repairing  as  well 
as  he  could  the  disorder  caused  by  the 
previous  struggle  ;  then  he  took  a  look 
•round  him. 


The  monk,  with  his  elbows  on  the 
table  and  a  cigarette  in  his  mouth,  was 
drinking  the  fluid  left  in  the  bottle, 
doubtless  to  console  himself  for  the 
navajada  with  which  Don  Pablo  had 
favored  him. 

"  Why,  senor  padre,"  the  ranchero 
said  in  an  insinuating  voice,  "  do  you 
know  that  it  is  hardly  five  o'clock?'' 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?"  the  other  an 
swered  for  the  sake  of  saying  some 
thing. 

"  Does  not  the  time  seem  to  you  to 
go  very  slowly  ?" 

"  Extraordinarily  so." 

"  It  you  liked  we  could  easily  shorten 
it." 

"  In  what  way  ?" 

"  Oh,  for  instance,  with  these." 

And  Andres  drew  from  his  boot  a 
pack  of  greasy  cards,  which  he  compla 
cently  spread  out  on  the  t;ible. 

"  Ah  !  that  is  a  good  idea,"  the  monk 
exclaimed  with  sparkling  eyes.  "  Let 
us  have  a  game  of  monte." 

"  At  your  orders." 

"  Don.  Andres,  you  are  a  most 
worthy  gentlemen.  What  shall  we 
play  for?" 

"  Ah,  hang  it !  that  is  true  ;  we  must 
play  for  something,"  tbe  ranchero  said, 
scratching  his  head. 

"  The  merest  trifle,  simply  to  render 
the  game  interesting." 

"  Yes,  but  to  do  that  man  must  pos 
sess  the  trifle." 

"  Do  not  let  that  trouble  you.  If 
you  permit  me  I  will  make  you  a  pro 
posal." 

"  Do  so,  senor.  You  are  a  remark 
able  clever  man,  and  can  have  none  but 
bright  ideas." 

The  monk  bowed  to  his  flattering  in 
sinuation. 

"  This  is  it :  we  will  play,  if  you  like 
for  the  share  of  the  gold  we  shall  re 
ceive  when  we  reach  the  placer." 

"  Done  !"  the  ranchero  shouted  en 
thusiastically. 

"  Well,"  the  monk  said,  irawing 
from  his  pocket  a  pack  of  cards  no  less 
dirty  than  the  others,  "  we  can  at  any 
rate  kill  time." 

"  What !  you  have  cards  too  ?"  the 
ranchero  remarked. 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


133 


"  Yes,  and  quite  new,  as  you  see." 

Andres  bowed  with  an  air  of  convic 
tion. 

The  game  began  at  once,  and  soon 
the  two  men  were  completely  absorbed 
in  the  combinations  of  the  seis  de  copas, 
the  ow  de,  bastos,  the  dos  de  oro,  and  the 
cuatro  d'expadax.  The  monk,  who  had 
no  necessity  to  feign  at  this  moment,  as 
lie  was  in  the  company  of  a  man  tho 
roughly  acquainted  with  him,  yielded 
frenzied ly  to  his  ruling  passion. 

In  Mexico,  and  thr  tughout  Spanish 
America,  the  angelus  rings  at  sunset. 
In  those  countries,  where  there  is  no 
twilight,  night  arrives  without  transi 
tion,  so  that  ere  the  bell  has  done  tink 
ling  the  gloom  is  dense.  At  the  last 
stroke  of  the  angelus  the  game  ceased, 
as  if  by  common  agreement  between 
the  two  men,  and  they  threw  their 
cards  on  the  table. 

Although  Garote  was  a  passed  mas 
ter  in  trickery,  and  had  displayed  all 
his  science,  he  found  in  the  monk  so 
skilful  an  adversary  that,  after  more 
than  three  hours  of  an  obstinate  strug 
gle,  they  both  found  themselves  as  lit 
tle  advanced  as  at  the  outset. 

The  monk,  however,  on  coming  to 
the  rancho,  had  an  object  which  Red 
Cedar  was  far  from  suspecting. 

Fray  Ambrosio  rested  his  arms  on 
the  table,  bent  his  body  slightly  for 
ward,  and  while  carelessly  playing  with 
the  cards,  which  he  amused  himself  by 
sorting,  he  said  to  the  ranchero,  as  he 
fixed  a  scrutinizing1  glance  upon  him  : 

"  Shall  we  talk  a  little,  Don  Andres  ?" 

"  Willingly,"  the  latter  replied,  who 
had  partly  risen,  but  now  fell  back  on 
his  chair. 

By  a  secret  foreboding  Andres 
Garote  had  guessed  that  the  monk 
wished  to  make  some  important  pro 
posal  to  him.  Hence,  thanks  to  that 
in.-tinctive  intuition  which  rogues  pos 
sess  for  certain  things,  the  two  men 
read  each  other's  thoughts. 

Fray  Ambrosio  bit  his  lips,  for  the 
gambusino's  intelligence  startled  him. 
Still  the  latter  bent  upon  him  a  glance 
so  full  of  stupid  meaning,  that  he  con 
tinued  to  make  a  confidant  of  him,  as  it 
were  involuntarily. 

"  Senor  Don  Andres,"  he  said   in  a 


soft  and  insinuating  voice,  "what  a  hap- 
piness  that  your  poor  brother,  on  dy 
ing,  revealed  to  me  the  secret  of  the 
rich  placer,  which  he  concealed  even 
from  yourself!" 

"  It  is  true,"  Andres  answered,  turn 
ing  slightly  pale  ;  "  it  was  very  for 
tunate,  senor  padre.  For  my  part,  I 
congratulate  myself  on  it  daily." 

"  Is  it  not  so  ?  for  without  it  the  im 
mense  fortune  would  have  been  lost  to 
you  and  all  else." 

"  It  is  terrible  to  think  of." 

"  Well,  at  this  moment  I  have  a  hor 
rible  fear." 

"  What  is  it,  senor  padre?" 

"  That  we  have  deferred  our  depar 
ture  too  long,  and  that  some  of  those 
European  vagabonds  we  were  speaking 
of  ju>t  now  may  have  discovered  our 
placer.  Those  scoundrels  have  a  pecu 
liar  scent  for  finding  gold." 

"  Carai,  senor  padre?'  Andres  said, 
striking  the  table  with  a  feigned  grief 
(for  he  knew  very  well  what  the  nvmk 
was  saying  was  only  a  clever  way  of 
attaining  his  .  real  point),  "  that  would 
drive  me  mad — an  affair  so  well  man 
aged  hitherto." 

"  That  is  true,"  Fray  Ambrosio  said 
in  corrobo ration.  "  I  could  never  con 
sole  myself." 

"  Demonios  !  I  have  as  great  an  in 
terest  in  it  as  yourself,  senor  padre," 
the  gambusino  replied  with  superb  cool 
ness.  "  You  know  that  an  uninterrupt 
ed  succession  of  unfortunate  specula 
tions  robbed  me  of  my  fortune,  and  I 
hoped  thus  to  regain  it  at  a  stroke." 

At  these  words  Fray  Ambrosio  had 
incredible  difficulty  in  repressing  a 
smile  ;  for  it  was  a  matter  of  public 
notoriety  that  SenoV  Don  Andres 
Garote  was  a  lepero,  who,  as  regarded 
fortune,  had  never  possessed  a  farthing 
of  patrimony;  that  throughout  his  life 
he  had  never  been  aught  but  an  adven 
turer  ;  and  that  the  unlucky  specula 
tions  of  which  he  complained  were 
simply  an  ill  luck  at  monte,  which  had 
recently  stripped  him  of  20,000  piastres, 
acquired  Heaven  alone  knew  how.  But 
Senor  Don  Andres  Garote  was  a  man 
of  unequalled  bravery,  gifted  with  a 
fertile  and  ready  mind,  whom  the  ac 
cidents  of  life  had  compelled  to  live  for 


134 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


a  lengthened  period  on  the  llanos  (prai 
ries),  whose  paths  he  knew  as  thorough 
ly  as  he  did  the  tricks  of  those  who 
dwelt  on  them. 

Hence,  ;md  for  many  other  reasons, 
Andres  Garote  was  an  invaluable  com 
rade  for  Fray  Ambrosio,  who  had  also 
a  bitter  revenge  to  take  on  the  monte- 
table,  because  he  pretended  to  place  the 
most  sincere  faith  in  what  it  pleased  his 
honorable  mate  to  say  touching  his  lost 
fortune. 

"  However,"  he  said,  after  an  instant's 
reflection,  "  supposing  that  the  placer  is 
intact,  and  that  no  one  has  discovered 
it,  we  shall  have  a  long  journey  to  reach 
it." 

"  Yes,"  the  gambusino  remarked,  sig 
nificantly  ;  "  the  road  is  difficult  and 
broadcast  with  perils  innumerable." 

"  We  must  march  with  our  chins  on 
our  shoulders,  and  finger  on  the  rifle- 
trigger " 

"  Fight  nearly  constantly  with  wild 
beasts  or  Indians " 

"  In  a  word,  do  you  not  believe  that 
the  woman  Red  Cedar  has  carried  off 
will  prove  a  horrid  bore?" 

"  Dreadfully  so,"  Andres  made  an 
swer,  with  an  intelligent  glance. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?" 

"  Hang  it !  that  is  difficult  to  say." 

"  Still  we  cannot  run  the  risk,  on  ac 
count  of  a  wretched  woman,  of  having 
our  hair  raised  by  the  Indians." 

"  That's  true  enough." 

"  Is  she  here  ?" 

"  Yes,"  the  gambusino  said,  pointing 
to  a  door ;  "  in  that  room." 

"  Hum  !" 

"  You  remarked " 

"  Nothing." 

"  Could  we  not " 

"What?" 

"  It  is  perhaps  difficult,"  Andres  con 
tinued,  with  feigned  hesitation. 

"  Explain  yourself." 

The  gambusino  seemed  to  make  up 
his  mind. 

"  Suppose  we  restore  her  to  her 
family  ?"  he  said. 

"  I  have  thought  of  that  already." 

"  That  is  strange.'' 

"  It  must  be  all  managed  very 
cleverly." 


"  And  the  relations  pay  a  proper  ran 
som." 

"  That  is  what  I  meant  to  say." 

There  was  a  silence. 

Decidedly  these  two  honorable  per 
sons  were  made  to  understand  one 
another. 

"But  who  is  to  undertake  this  deli 
cate  mission  ?"  asked  the  monk. 

"  I,  con  mil  dernonios !"  the  gambu 
sino  exclaimed,  his  eyes  sparkling  with 
jrreed  at  the  thought  of  the  rich  ransom 
he  would  demand. 

"  But  if  Red  Cedar  were  to  find  out," 
the  monk  remarked,  "  that  we  surren 
dered  his  prisoner  ?" 

"  Who  will  tell  him?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  shan't." 

"  Nor  I." 

'•'  It  is  very  easy  ;  the  girl  will  have 
escaped." 

"  Quite  true." 

"  Do  not  let  us  lose  time,  then.  You 
have  a  horse  ?" 

"  I  have  two." 

"  Bravo !  You  will  place  Dona  Clara 
on  one,  and  mount  the  other  yourself." 

"  And  go  straight  to  the  Hacienda  de 
la  Noria." 

"That  is  it.  Don  Pablo  will  be 
delighted  to  recover  his  sister,  whom 
he  expected  never  to  see  again,  and  will 
not  haggle  over  the  price  he  pays  for 
her  deliverance." 

"  Famous  !  In  that  way  we  run  no 
risk  of  not  reaching  the  placer,  as  our 
party  will  only  consist  of  men." 

"  Excellently  reasoned  !" 

Andres  Garote  rose  with  a  smile 
which  would  have  caused  the  monk  to 
reflect,  had  he  seen  it ;  but  at  the  same 
moment  the  latter  was  rubbing  his 
hands,  saying  in  a  low  voice,  and  with  a 
most  satisfied  air  : 

"  Now,  my  scamp,  I've  got  you." 

What  secret  thought  possessed  these 
two  men,  who  were  carrying  on  a 
mutual  deceit,  none  save  themselves 
could  have  said. 

The  gambusino  approached  the  door 
of  the  room  where  Dona  Clara  was  con 
fined,  and  put  the  key  in  the  lock.  At 
this  moment  two  vigorous  blows  were 
dealt  on  the  door  of  the  rancho,  which 
had  been  carefully  bolted  after  Red 
Cedar's  departure. 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


135 


The  two  accomplices  started. 

"  Must  I  open1?"  Andres  asked. 

"  Yes,"  the  monk  answered  ;  "  hesi 
tation  or  refusal  might  create  alarm. 
In' our  position  we  must  foresee  every 
thing." 

The  ranchero  went  to  open  the  door, 
which  the  new-comer  threatened  to 
break  in. 

A  man  walked  in,  who  took  a  careful 
glance  around,  then  doffed  his  hat  and 
bowed.  The  confederates  exchanged  a 
glance  of  vexation  on  recognising  him, 
for  he  was  no  other  than  Shaw,  Red 
Cedar's  youngest  son. 

"I  am  afraid  I  disturb  you,  gentle 
men,"  the  young  man  said,  with  an 
ironical  smile. 

"  Not  at  all,"  Andres  made  answer  ; 
"  on  the  contrary,  we  are  delighted  to 
see  you." 

"  Thanks !" 

And  the  young  man  fell  back  into  a 
butacca. 

"  You  are  very  late  at  Santa  Fe,"  the 
monk  remarked. 

"  It  is  true,"  the  American  said,  with 
some  embarrassment;  "I  am  looking 
for  my  father,  and  fancied  1  should  find 
him  here." 

"  He  was  so  a  few  hours  back,  but 
he  was  obliged  to  leave  us." 

"  Ah  !" 

This  exclamation  was  rather  drawn 
from  the  young  man  by  the  necessity 
he  felt  of  replying,  than  through  any 
interest  he  took  in  the  information 
afforded  him.  He  was  evidently  pre 
occupied  ;  but  Fray  Ambrosio  did  not 
appear  to  notice  it,  as  he  continued  : 

"  Yes  :  it  appears  that  his  Excellency 
the  Governor  ordered  your  father  to  go 
and  meet  a  regiment  of  dragoons  in 
tended  to  reinforce  the  garrison,  and 
hasten  its  march." 

18  That  is  true  ;  I  forgot  it." 

The  monk  and  the  miner  did  not  at 
all  understand  the  American's  conduct, 
and  lost  themselves  in  conjectures  as  to 
the  reasons  that  brought  him  to  the 
rancho.  They  guessed  instinctively 
that  what  he  said  about  his  father  was 
only  a  pretext  or  means  of  introduction  ; 
and  that  a  powerful  motive,  he  would 
not  or  dared  not  avow,  had  brought 


For  his  part,  the  young  man,  in  com 
ing  to  the  Rancho  del  Coyote,  where  he 
knew  that  Duna  Clara  was  imprisoned, 
expected  to  find  Andres  alone,  with 
whom  he  hoped  to  come  to  an  under 
standing  in  some  way  or  another.  The 
presence  of  the  monk  disturbed  all  his 
plans.  Still,  time  was  slipping  away  ; 
he  must  make  up  his  mind,  and,  before 
all,  profit  by  lied  Cedar's  providential 
absence,  which  offered  him  an  opportu 
nity  he  could  hardly  dare  to  hope  again 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

A     STORMY      DISCUSSION. 

SHAW  was  not  timid,  as  we  have  said, 
— he  ought  rather  be  accused  of  the  op 
posite  excess  ;  he  was  not  the  man,  once 
his  resolution  was  formed,  to  let,  any 
thing  soever  turn  him  from  it.  His 
hesitation  was  not  long;  he  suddenly 
rose,  and  violently  stamping  his  rifle 
butt  on  the  ground,  looked  at  the  two 
men,  while  saying  in  a  firm  voice  : 

"  lie  frank,  my  presence  here  at  this 
hour  astonishes  you,  and  you  ask  your 
selves  what  cause  can  have  brought 
me." 

"  Sir,"  the  monk  said,  with  a  certain 
degree  of  hesitation  rendered  highly 
natural  by  the  young  man's  tone. 

"  Pardon  me,"  Shaw  exclaimed,  inter 
rupting  him,  "  the  cause  you  will  seek 
in  vain.  1  will  tell  you :  1  have  coine 
to  deliver  Dona  Clara." 

"Can  it  be  possible?"  the  two  men 
exclaimed  with  stupefaction. 

"  It  is  so  ;  whether  you  like  it  or  not, 
I  care  little.  1  am  the  jnan  to  hold  my 
own  against  both  of  you,  and  no  one 
can  prevent  me  restoring  the  maiden  to 
her  father,  as  1  have  resolved  on 
doing." 

"  What  do  I  hear?"  said  Frt.y  Am 
brosio. 

"  Hum  !"  the  young  man  continued 
quickly,  "  believe  me,  do  not  attempt 
any  useless  resistance,  for  1  have  re 
solved,  if  needs  must,  to  pass  over  your 
bodies  to  success." 

"  But  we  have  not  the  slightest 
wish " 


136 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


"  Take  care,"  he  interrupted  him  in  f 
voice  full  of  menace  and    frowning,  " 
will  only  leave  this  house  accomplice 
by  her  1  wish  to  save." 

"  Sir,"  the  monk  remarked,  in  ai 
authoritative  voice  which  momentarily 
quelled  the  young  savage,  "  two  words 
of  explanation." 

"  Make  haste  !"  he  answered,  "  for  I 
warn  you  that  my  patience  is  exhaust 
ed." 

"  I  do  not  insist  on  your  listening  an) 
length  of  time.  You  have  come  hero 
}ou  say,  with  the  intention  of  deliver 
ing  Dona  Clara?' 

"  Yes,"     he    answered     impatiently 

"  and  if  yon  attempt  to  oppose  it " 

"  Pardon  me,"  the  monk  interrupted 
*  such    a   determinatiou   on    your    part 
naturally  surprises  us." 

"Why  so?"  the  young  man  said, 
raising  his  head  haughtily. 

"  Because,"  Fray  Arnbrosio  answered 
tranquilly,  "  You  are  the  son  of  lied 
Cedar,  and  it  is  at  least  strange 

that " 

"  Enough  talking,"  Shaw  exclaimed 
violently  ;  "  will  you  or  not  give  me 
up  her  1  have  come  to  seek  ?" 

"  I  muse  know,  in  the  first  place, 
what  you  intend  doing  with  her. 
"  How  does  that  concern  you  ?" 
"  More  than  you  imagine.  Since 
that  girl  has  been  a  prisoner  I  consti 
tuted  myself — if  not  her  <_'uardian,  for 
the  dress  1  wear  forbids  that — her  de 
fender ;  in  tha-t  quality  I  have  the  right 
of  knowing  for  what  reason  you,  the 
son  of  the  man  who  tore  her  from  her 
family,  have  come  so  audaciously  to  de 
mand  her  surrender  to  you,  and  what 
your  object  is  in  acting  thus  ?" 

The  young  man  had  listened  to  those 
remarks  with  an  impatience  that  be 
came  momentarily  more  visible ;  it 
could  be  been  that  he  made  superhuman 
efforts  to  restrain  himself.  When  the 
monk  stopped,  he  looked  at  him  for  a 
moment  with  a  strange  expression,  then 
walked  up  so  close  as  almost  to  touch 
him,  drew  a  pair  of  pistols  from  his 
girdle  and  pointed  them  at  the  monk. 

"  Surrender  Dona  Clara  to  me,"  he 
said,  in  a  low  and  menacing  voice. 

Fray  Ambrosio  had  attentively  fol 
lowed  all  the  American's  movements, 


'and  when  the  latter  put  the  pisljl  muz 
zles  to  his  chest,  the  monk,  with  an  ac 
tion  rapid  as  lightning,  also  drew  two 
pistols  from  his  girdle,  and  placed  them, 
on  his  adversary's  chest. 

There  was  a  moment  of  supreme  ex 
pectation,  of  indescribable  agony  ;  the' 
two  men  were  motionless,  face  to  face, 
panting,  each  with  his  fingers  on  a  trig 
ger,  pale,  and  their  brows  dank  with' 
cold  perspiration. 

Andres  Garote,  his  lips  curled  by  an 
ironical  smile,  and  his  arms  crossed, 
carelessly  leaned  against  a  table,  watch 
ing  this  scene  which  had  for  him  all  the 
attractions  of  a  play. 

All  at  once  the  dx>r  of  the  rancho, 
which  had  not  been  fastened  again  after 
the  squatter's  entry  was  violently 
thrown  back  and  a  man  appeared. 

It  was  Father  Seraphin.  At  a  glance 
he  judged  the  position  and  boldly  threw 
himself  between  the  foemen,  hurling 
them  back,  but  not  uttering  a  word. 

The  two  men  recoiltd,  and  lowered 
their  weapons,  but  continued  to  men 
ace  each  other  with  their  glances. 

"What!"  the  missionary  said  in  a 
deep  voice,  "  have  1  arrived  just  in  time 
to  prevent  a  double  murder,  gentle 
men  ?  In  heaven's  name,  hide  those 
homicidal  weapons  ;  do  not  stand  oppo 
site  each  other  like  wild  beasts  prepar 
ing  for  a  leap." 

"  Withdraw,  father;  you  have  noth 
ing  to  do  here.     Let  me  treat  this  man 
as  he  deserves,"  the  squatter  answered, 
asting  at    the   missionary   a   ferocious 
glance — "  his  life  belongs  to  me." 

"Young    man,"  the    priest    replied, 

'  the  life  of  a  fellow  being  belongs  only 

to  God,  who  has  the  right  to  deprive. 

lim  of  it ;  lower  your  weapons" — and 

urn  ing  to  Fray  Ambrosio,   he  said   to 

lim  in  a  cutting  voice,  "and  you  who 

dishonor    the    frock    you  wear,  throw 

away    those  pistols  which    sully    your 

lands — a  minister  of  the  altar  should 

lot  employ    other    weapons    than  the 

jospel." 

The  monk  bowed,  and  caused  his 
)istols  to  disappear,  saying  iu  a  soft 
and  cautious  voice  : 

"  My  father,  1  was  compelled  to  defend 
ny  life  which  that  maniac  assailed, 
leaven  is  my  witness  that  I  reprov* 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


these  violent  measures,  too  frequently 
employed  in  this  unhappy  country  ;  but 
this  man  came  into  the  house  with 
threats  on  his  lips ;  he  insisted  on  our 
delivering  a  wretched  girl  whom  this 
cabulleru,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the 
gambusino,  "and  myself  did  not  think 
proper  to  surrender." 

Andres  corroborated  the  monk's 
words  by  a  nod  of  the  head. 

"  I  wish  to  save  that  young  girl  from 
your  hands,"  Shaw  said,  "  and  restore 
her  to  her  father." 

"  Of  whom  are  you  speaking,  my 
friend  ?''  the  missionary  asked  with  a 
secret  beating  of  his  heart. 

"  Of  whom  should  I  speak,  save  Do 
na  Clara  de  Zarate,  whom  these  villains 
retain  here  by  force  ?" 

"  Can  it  be  possible  ?"  Father  Sera- 
phin  exclaimed  in  amazement.  "  Dona 
Clara  here  ?" 

"  Ask  those  men,"  Shaw  answered, 
roughly,  as  he  angrily  struck  the  butt  of 
his  rifle  against  the  ground. 

"Is  it  true1?"  the  priest  inquired. 

"  It  is,"  the  gambusino  answered. 

Father  Seraphin  frowned,  and  his 
pale  forehead  was  covered  with  febrile 
ruddiness. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  choking  with 
indignation,  "  1  summon  you,  in  the 
name  of  that  God  whom  you  serve,  and 
whose  minister  you  lay  claim  to  being, 
to  restore  at  once  to  liberty  the  hapless 
girl  whom  you  have  so  unworthily  im 
prisoned,  in  defiance  of  all  law^,  human 
and  divine.  I  engage  to  deliver  her 
into  the  hands  of  those  who  bewail  her 
loss." 

Fray  Ambrosio  bowed  ;  he  let  his 
eyes  fall,  and  said  in  a  hypocritical 
voice  : 

"  Father,  you  are  mistaken  as  regards 
myself.  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
carrying  olf  of  that  poor  child,  which 
on  the  contrary,  I  opposed  to  the  ut 
most  of  my  power  ;  and  that  is  so  true, 
father,"  he  added,  "  that  at  the  moment 
when  this  young  madman  arrived,  the 
worthy  gambusino  and  myself  had  re 
solved,  at  all  risks,  on  restoring  Dona 
Clara  to  her  family." 

"I  should  wish  to  believe  you,  sir  ;• 
if  I  am  mistaken,  as  you  say,  you  will 
forgive  me,  for  appearances  were  aga'nst 


you  ;  it  only  depends  on  yourself  to 
produce  a  perfect  justification  by  carry 
ing  out  my  wishes." 

"  You  shall  be  satisfied,  father,"  the 
monk  replied. 

At  a  signal  from  him  Garote  left  the 
room. 

During  the  few  words  interchanged 
between  the  two  men,  Shaw  remained 
motionless,  hesitating,  not  knowing  what 
he  ought  to  do  ;  but  he  suddenly  made 
up  his  mind,  threw  his  rifle  ov<:r  his 
shoulcjer,  and  turned  to  the  missionary. 

"  Father,"  he  said  respectfully,  "  my 
presence  is  now  needless  here.  Fare 
well;  my  departure  will  prove  to  you 
the  purity  of  my  intentions." 

And  turning  suddenly  on  his  heel,  he 
hurried  out  of  the  rancho. 

A  few  moments  after  his  departure 
the  gambusino  returned,  Dona  Clara 
following  him. 

Dona  Clara  no  longer  wore  the  dress 
of  the  whites,  for  Red  Cedar,  in  order 
to  render  her  unrecognisable,  had  com 
pelled  her  to  don  the  Indian  garb,  which 
the  maiden  wore  with  an  innate  grace 
which  heightened  its  strange  elegance. 

Like  all  Indian  squaws,  she  was  at 
tired  in  two  white  chemises  of  striped 
calico — the  one  fastened  around  the 
neck,  fell  to  the  hips  ;  while  the  other, 
drawn  in  at  the  waist,  descended  to  her 
ankles.  Her  neck  was  adorned  with 
collars  of  fine  pearls,  mingled  with  those 
small  shells  called  wampum,  and  em 
ployed  by  the  Indians  as  money.  Her 
arms  and  ankles  were  surrounded  by 
wide  circles  of  gold,  and  a  small  diadern 
of  the  same  metal  relieved  the  pale  tint 
of  her  forehead.  Moccasins  of  doer- 
hide,  embroidered  with  wool  and  beads 
of  every  color  imprisoned  her  small  and 
high-arched  feet. 

As  she  entered  the  room,  a  shadow 
of  melancholy  and  sadness  spread  over 
her  face,  adding,  were  that  possible,  a 
further  charm  to  her  person. 

On  seeing  the  missionary,  Dona  Clara 
uttered  a  cry  of  joy,  and  rushed  toward 
him,  fell  into  his  arms,  and  murmured 
in  a  heart-rending  voice  : 

"  Father  !  save  me  !  save  me  !" 

"Be  calm,  my  daughter  !"  the  priest 
said  to  her,  gently.  "  You  have  nothing 
more  to  fear'  now  that  I  am  near  you." 


138 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


"  Come  !"  she  exclaimed,  wildly,  "  let 
us  fly  from  this  accursed  house,  in 
which  I  have  suffered  so  greatly." 

"Yes,  my  daughter,  we  will  go;  set 
your  mind  at  rest." 

"You  spe,  father,"  Fray  Ambrosio 
said,  hypocritically,  "  that  I  did  not  de- 
ceis-e  you.'' 

The  missionary  cast  at  the  monk  a 
glance  of  undefinable  meaning. 

"  1  trust  that  you  spoke  truly,"  he 
replied  ;  "  the  God  who  gauges  hearts 
will  judge  you  according  to  works.  1 
will  rescue  this  maiden  at  once." 

"  Do  so,  father;  I  am  happy  to  know 
her  under  your  protection." 

And  picking  up  the  cloak  which  Don 
Pablo  left  after  blinding  Red  Cedar,  he 
placed  it  delicately  on  the  shuddering 
shoulders  of  Dona  Clara,  in  order  to 
conceal  her  hid. an  garb.  Father  Sera- 
phin  drew  her  arm  through  his  own, 
and  led  her  from  the  rancho.  Ere 
long  they  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 

Fray  Ambrosio  looked  after  them  as 
long  as  he  could  see  them,  and  then  re- 
entered  the  room,  carefully  bolting  the 
door  after  him. 

"  Well,"  Andres  Garote  asked  him, 
"  what  do  you  think,  Senor  Padre,  of 
all  that  has  happened  ?" 

"  Perhaps  things  are  better  as  thev 
are." 

"  And  Red  Cedar  ?" 

"  I  undertake  to  render  ourselves  as 
white  in  his  sight  as  the  snows  of  the 
Giffre  de  Perote." 

"  Hum  !  it  will  be  difficult." 

"  Perhaps  so." 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

THE  MYSTERY. 

ON  leaving  the  Rancho  del  Coj'ote, 
Red  Cedar  dug  his  spurs  into  his  horse's 
flanks,  and  galloped  in  a  south-western 
direction.  So  soon  as  he  was  out  of 
the  town  he  turned  to  the  left,  took  a 
narrow  path  that  ran  round  the  walls, 
pulled  up  his  horse,  and  advanced  with 
the  utmost  caution.  Throwing  sus 
picious  glances  on  either  side,  he  went 
on  thus  for  about  three-quarters  of  an 


hour,  when  he  reached  a  house,  in  one 
of  the  windows  of  which  burned  three 
wax-tapers. 

The  lights  thus  arranged  were  evi 
dently  a  signal  for  the  squatter,  for  so 
soon  as  he,  came  to  the  house  he  stop- 
ped  and  dismounted,  attached  his  horse 
to  a  larch-tree,  and  prudently  conceal 
ing  himself  behind  a  thicket,  imitated 
thrice  at  equal  intervals  the  hu-hu  of  an 
owl.  The  lights  burning  in  the  win 
dow  were  extinguished,  as  if  by  en 
chantment. 

The  night  was  gloomy,  only  a  few 
stars  studded  the  vault  of  heaven ;  a 
leaden  silence  brooded  over  the  plain, 
which  appeared  quite  solitary. 

At  this  moment  a  voice  could  be 
heard  from  the  house  which  Red  Cedur 
was  watching  so  carefully. 

The  squatter  listened ;  the  speaker 
leaned  for  a  second  out  of  the  window 
looked  cautiously  round,  and  disappear 
ed  muttering  loud  enough  for  the 
American  to  overhear  : 

"  All  is  quiet  in  the  neighborhood." 

"  Still,"  the  squatter  said,  without 
showing  himself,  "the  coyotes  prowl 
about  the  plain.'' 

"  Are  you  conr.ing  or  going  ]"  the 
man  at  the  window  continued. 

"  Both,"  the  squatter  answered,  still 
hidden  behind  his  bush. 

"  You  can  come  on,  for  you  are  ex 
pected." 

"  I  know  it ;  hence  here  I  am." 

While  making  this  answer,  the  squat 
ter  left  his  hiding-place,  and  placed  him 
self  before  the  door  with  folded  arms, 
like  a  man  who  has  nothing  to  fear. 

The  door  was  cautiously  opened  ;  a 
man  emerged,  carefully  wrapped  up  in 
a  wide  cloak,  which  only  allowed  eyes 
to  be  seen,  that  flashed  in  the  gloom 
like  a  jackal's.  This  person  walked 
straight  up  to  Red  Cedar. 

"  Well,"  he  asked,  in  a  low  voice, 
"  have  you  reflected  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  what  is  the  result  of  your  re 
flections  ?" 

"  I  refuse." 

"  Still  ?" 
.    "  More  than  ever." 

"  Take  care;" 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


139 


"  I  do  not  care,  Don  Melchior,  for  '. 
am  n<«t  afraid  of  you." 

"  No  names  !"  the  stranger  exclaimed 
impatiently. 

'•  We  are  alone." 
"  No  one  is  ever  alone  in  the  desert.' 
"  That  is  true,"  Red  Cedar  muttered 
"  Let  us  return  to  our  business." 
"  It  is  simple — give  and  give." 
"  Hum  !     You  get  to  work  very  fast 
unfortunately  it  cannot  be  so." 
"  Why  not?" 

"  Why,  because  I  am  growing  tirec 
of  constantly  taking  in  my  nets  game 
by  which  others  profit,  and  which  ] 
ought  to  keep  as  a  safeguard." 

'•  You  call  that  girl  a  guarantee  ?" 
"  By  Heaven  !  what  else  do  you  mean 
to  make  of  her  ?" 

"  Do  not  compare  me  with  you, 
scoundrel  !" 

"  Where  is  the  difference  between 
us?  I  am  a  scoundrel,  I  grant;  but, 
by  heaven  !  you  are  another,  my  mas 
ter,  however  powerful  you  may  be." 

"  Listen,  caballero  !"  the  stranger  an 
swered,  in  a  cutting  voice.  "I  will 
lose  no  more  of  my  time  in  discoursing 
with  you.  i  want  that  girl,  and  wi 
have  her,  whatever  you  may  do  to  pre 
vent  me." 

"  Good  ;  in  that  case  you  declare  war 
against  me  ?"  the  squatter  said,  with  a 
certain  tinge  of  alarm,  which  he  tried  in 
vain  to  conceal. 

The  stranger  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"We  have  known  one  another  long 
enough  to  be  perfectly  well  acquainted  ; 
we  can  only  be  friends  or  foes.     Is  not 
that  your  opinion?" 
"  Yes." 

"  Well,  then,  hand  Dona  Clara  over 
to  me,  and  1  will  give  you  the  papers 

which " 

"  Enough  !"  the  squatter  said,  sharp 
ly.  "  Have  you  those  papers  about 
you?" 

The  stranger  burst  into  a  laugh. 
"Do  you  take  rne  for  such  a  fool?" 
he  said. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you." 
"  I  will  not  insult  you  by  believing 
you.     No,   I    have    not    those    papers 
about  me.     I  am  not  such  an  ass  as  to 
risk  assassination  at  your  hands." 
"  What  would  your  death  profit  me  1" 


"  Hang  it  all !  if  it  were  only  my 
scalp  you  would  be  sure  to  receive  at 
least  fifty  dollars  for  it." 

At  this  mournful  jest  the  squatter  be 
gan  laugbibg. 

"  1  did  not  think  of  that,"  he    said, 


"  Listen  to  me,  Red  Cedar,  and  print 
the  words  on  your  memory." 
"  Speak." 

"  In  a  month  from  to-day,  hour  for 
hour,  day  for  day,  wherever  you  may 
be,  I  shall  present  myself  to  you." 

"For  what  purpose?'  the  squatter 
asked  impudently. 

'  To  repeat  my  demand  with  reference 
to  the  prisoner." 

"  Then,  as  now,  I  shall  reply  No,  my 
master." 

"  Perhaps  so.  Live  and  learn.  Now 
good-bye,  and  may  the  devil,  your  pa 
tron  saint,  prese  ve  you  in  good  health 
until  our  next  meeting.  You  know; 
that  I  have  you  tight ;  so  consider 
yourself  warned.'' 

"  Good,  good  !  threats  do  not  fright- 
n  me.  Demonios,  since  I  have  been 
traversing  the  desert,  1  have  found  my 
self  opposed  to  enemies  quite  as  dan 
gerous  as  you,  and  yet  1  managed  to 
jet  quit  of  them." 

"That  is  possible,  Red  Cedar;  but 
aelieve  me,  meditate  carefully  on  my 
words." 

"  I  repeat  that  your  threats  do  not 
righten  me." 

"  I  do  not  threaten,  I  warn  you." 
"  Hum  !     WTell,  then,  listen  in  your 
urn.     In  the  desert,  every  man  armed 
with    a  good  rifle  has  nothing  to  fear 
rom  whomsoever." 

'  What  next?"  the  stranger  inter- 
•upted  him,  in  a  sarcastic  voice. 

"  Well,  my  rifle  is  excellent,  I  have 
a  sure  aim,  and  I  say  no  more." 

"  Nonsense,  you  are  mad !  1  defy 
ou  to  kill  ine  !" 

"  Hang  it,  though,  what  can  be  your 
motive  for  wishing  to  have  this  girl  in 
our  power  ?" 

"  That  is  no  affair  of  yours.     I  have 
no  explanations  due  to  you.     Enough 
or  you  to  know  that  I  want  her." 
"  You  shall  not  have  her." 
"We  shall  see.    Goodbye.  Bed  Ce- 
lar." 


140 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


"  Good-bye,  Don  Melchior,  or  wnat- 
ever  be  the  name  you  please  to  bear." 

The  stranger  made  no  reply,  but 
turned  his  head  with  a  gesture  of  con 
tempt,  and  whistled. 

A  man  emerged  from  the  house, 
holding  a  horse  by  the  bridle  ;  at  one 
bound  the  stranger  reached  the  saddle, 
and  ordered  the  servant  to  withdraw. 

"Farewell,  Compadre,  remember  our 
appointment." 

And  loosing  his  reins,  the  stranger 
started  at  a  gallop,  not  condescending 
even  to  turn  his  head. 

Red  Cedar  looked  after  him  with  an 
indescribable  expression  of  rage. 

"  Oh,"  he  muttered  in  a  low  voice, 
"  demon  !  shall  I  never  free  myself 
from  your  clutches  ?" 

And  with  a  motion  rapid  as  thought 
he  shouldered  his  rifle,  and  aimed  at 
the  departing  man.  All  at  once  the 
latter  turned  his  horse,  and  stood  right 
opposite  Red  Cedar. 

"  Mind  not  to  miss  me  !"  he  cried, 
with  a  burst  of  laughter  that  caused  a 
cold  perspiration  to  bead  on  the  bandit's 
forehead. 

The  latter  let  his  rifle  fall,  saying  in 
a  hollow  voice  : 

"  He  is  right,  and  I  am  mad  !  If  1 
only  had  the  papers  !" 

The  stranger  waited  for  a  moment 
calm  and  motionless ;  then  he  started 
again  and  soon  disappeared  in  the  dark 
ness. 

Red  Cedar  stood  with  his  body  bow 
ed  forward,  and  his  ears  on  the  watch, 
so  long  as  the  horse's  hoofs  could  be 
heard ;  then  he  returned  to  his  own 
steed,  and  bounded  into  the  saddle. 

"  Now  to  go  and  warn  the  dragoons," 
he  said,  and  pushed  on. 

The  squatter  had  scarce  departed  ere 
several  men  appeared  from  either  side  ; 
they  were  Valentine,  Curumilla,  and 
Don  Pablo  on  the  right ;  Unicorn  and 
Eagle-wing  on  the  left. 

Valentine  and  his  friends  were  aston 
ished  at  meeting  the  Comanche  chief, 
whom  they  believed  gone  back  to  his 
Camp  ;  but  the  sachem  explained  to 
them,  in  a  few  words,  how,  at  the  mo 
ment  he  was  crossing  the  spot  where 
they  now  were,  he  had  heard  Red 
Cedar's  voice,  and  concealed  himself  in 


the  shrubs  in  order  to  overhear  the 
squatter's  colloquy  with  his  strange 
friend. 

Valentine  had  done  the  same ;  but, 
unfortunately,  the  party  had  been  great 
ly  di  appointed,  for  the  squatter's  con 
versation  remained  to  them  an  enigma, 
of  which  they  sought  the  key  in  vain. 

" 'Tis  strange,"  Valentine  remarked, 
as  he  passed  his  hand  several  times 
across  his  forehead.  "  I  do  not  know 
where  1  have  seen  the  man  just  now  talk 
ing  here  with  Red  Cedar,  but  I  have  a 
vague  reminiscence  of  having  met  him 
before,  where  and  under  what  circum 
stance  I  try,  though  in  vain,  to  recal." 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?"  Don  Pablo 
asked. 

"Hang  it,  what  we  agreed  on;"  and 
turning  to  the  chief,  he  said,  "  Good 
luck,  brother,  1  believe  we  shall  save 
our  friend."  » 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,"  the  Indian  replied, 
laconically. 

"  May  heaven  hear  you,  brother," 
Valentine  continued.  "  Act !  while,  on 
your  side,  you  watch  the  town  for  fear 
of  treason.  We  then  will  ambush  our 
selves  on  the  road  the  gambusinos  must 
take,  in  order  to  know  positively  the 
direction  in  which  they  are  proceeding. 
Till  to-morrow,  chief!'' 

•"Stop!"  a  panting  voice  exclaimed, 
and  a  man  suddenly  appeared  in  the 
midst  of  them. 

"Father  Seraph'in  !"  Valentine  said 
in  a  surprise.  "  What  chance  brings 
you  this  way  ?" 

"  I  was  looking  for  you." 

"  What  do  you  want  with  me?" 

"To  give  you  some  <jood  news." 

"  Speak  !  speak  quickly,  father  !     Has 
Don  Miguel  left  his  prison  ?" 
1     "  Alas  !  not  yet  ;   but  his  daughter  is 
free  !" 

"  Dona  Clara  free  !"  Valentine  shout 
ed  joyously.  "Heaven  be  blessed! 
where  is  she  ?" 

"  She  is  temporarily  in  safety,  be  as 
sured  of  that;  but  let  me  give  you  a 
warning,  which  may  perhaps  prove  use 
ful  to  you." 

"  Speak  !  speak  !" 

"  By  order  of  the  governor,  Red 
Cedar  has  gone  to  meet  the  regiment  of 
dragoons,  coining  up  to  reinforce  the 
Santa  Fe  garrison." 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


141 


"  Caramba"  Valentine  said,  "  are 
yon  sure  of  your  statement,  father?" 

"  1  am :  in  my  presence,  the  men 
who  carried  off  Dona  Clara  spoke  about 
it." 

"  All  is  lost  if  these  soldiers  arrive." 

"  Yes,"  the  missionary  said ;  "  but, 
how  to  prevent  it  ?" 

Curumilla  lightly  touched  the  leader's 
arm. 

"  What  do  you  want,  chief!" 

"  The  Comanches  are  warriors,"  Curu 
milla  answered,  curtly. 

"  Ah  !"  Valentine  exclaimed,  and 
tapping  his  forehead  with  delight,  "that 
is  true,  chief;  you  save  us." 

Curumilla  smiled  with  pleasure. 

"  While  you  go  in  pursuit  of  the 
soldiers,"  said  Don  Pablo,  "  as  I  can  be 
of  no  service  to  you,  I  will  accompany 
Father  Seraphin  to  my  poor  sister, 
whom  1  have  not  seen  so  long,  and  am 
eager  to  embrace." 

"  Do  so,"  Valentine  answered.     "  At 
daybreak  you  will  bring  Dona  Clara  to 
the  camp,  that    I   may   myself  deliver 
her  to  her  father." 
,      "  That  is  agreed." 

Valentine,  Curumilla,  and  Unicorn 
rushed  out  in  the  plain,  while  Father 
Seraphin  and  Don  Pablo  returned  to 
the  town. 

The  two  gentlemen,  anxious  to  join 
the  girl,  did  not  perceive  that  they  were 
closely  watched  by  an  individual,  who 
followed  their  every  movement,  while 
careful  not  to  be  seen  by  them. 

It  was  Nathan,  Red  Cedar's  eldest 
son. 

How  come  that  man  there  ? 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

THE    AMBUSCADE. 

THE  night-breeze  had  swept  the 
clouds  away  ;  the  sky,  of  a  deep  azure, 
was  studded  with  an  infinity  of  stars; 
the  night  was  limpid,  the  atmosphere  so 
transparent  as  to  allow  the  slightest 
varieties  of  the  landscape  to  be  distin 
guished. 

About  four  leagues  from  Santa  Fe,  a 
numerous  band  of  horsemen  was  fol 
lowing  a  path  scarce,  traced  in  the  tall 
grass,  which  approached  the  town  with 
9 


countless  turns  and  windings.  These 
horsemen,  who  marched  in  rather  de 
cent  order,  were  nearly  bOO  in  number, 
and  formed  the  regiment  of  dragoons 
so  anxiously  expected  by  General  Ven 
tura. 

About  ten  paces  ahead  rode  four  or 
five  officers  gaily  chatting  together, 
among  whom  was  the  colonel.  The  re 
giment  continued  its  march  slowly,  ad 
vancing  cautiously,  through  fear  of  los 
ing  its  way  in  a  perfectly  strange  coun 
try.  The  colonel  and  his  officers  who 
h.-id  always  fought  in  the  States  border 
ing  the  Atlantic,  found  themselves  now 
for  the  first  time  in  these  savage  coun 
tries. 

"  Caballeros,"  the  colonel  suddenly 
remarked,  "  I  confess  to  you  that  I  am, 
completely  ignorant  as  to  our  where 
abouts.  Can  any  one  of  you  throw  a 
light  on  the  subject  ?  This  road  is  fear 
ful,  it  seems  to  lead  nowhere,  and  I  ana 
afraid  we  have  lost  our  way." 

"  We  are  all  as  ignorant  as  yourself 
on  that  head,  colonel,"  an  officer  an 
swered,  "  not  one  of  us  could  say 
where  we  are." 

"  On  my  word  !"  the  colonel  went 
on,  taking  a  glance  of  satisfaction 
around,  "  we  are  not  in  a  hurry  to 
reach  Santa  Fe.  I  suppose  it  makes 
little  difference  whether  we  get  there  to 
day  or  to-morrow.  I  believe  that  the 
best  thing  for  us  to  do  is  to  bivouac  here 
for  the  rest  of  the  night ;  at  sunrise  we 
will  start  again." 

"  You  are  right,  colonel,"  the  officer 
said,  whom  he  seemed  to  address  most 
particularly,  "  a  few  hours'  delay  is  of 
no  consequence,  and  we  run  the  risk  of 
going  out  of  our  course." 

"  Give  the  order  to  halt." 

The  officer  immediately  obeyed  ; 
the  soldiers,  wearied  with  a  long  night's 
march,  greeted  with  shouts  of  joy  the 
order  to  stop.  They  dismounted.  The 
horses  were  unsaddled  and  picketted, 
camp.fires  were  lighted,  in  less  than  an 
hour  the  bivouac  was  arranged. 

The  colonel,  in  desiring  to  camp  for 
the  night,  had  a  more  serious  fear  than 
that  of  losing  his  way  ;  it  was  that  of 
falling  in  with  a  party  of  Indios  braws. 

The  colonel  was  brave,  and  had 
proved  it  on  many  occasions  j  grown 


143 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


gray  in  harness,  he  was  an  old  soldier 
who  feared  nothing  in  the  world  partic 
ularly  ;  but  accustomed  to  warfare  in 
the  interior  of  the  Republic,  had  never 
seen  opposed  to  him  any  but  civilized 
toes,  he  professed'  for  the  Indians  that 
instinctive  fear  which  all  the  Mexicans 
entertain,  and  he  would  not  risk  a  fight 
with  an  Apache  or  Comanche  war  party 
in  the  middle  of  the  night,  in  a  country 
whose,  resources  he  did  not  know,  and 
run  the  risk  of  having  his  regiment  cut 
to  pieces  by  such  Protean  enemies. 

On  the  other  hand,  he  was  unaware 
that  the  governor  of  Santa  Fe  had  such 
pressing  need  of  his  presence,  and  this 
authorized  him  in  acting  with  the  utmost 
precaution.  Still,  as  soon  as  the  bivouac 
was  established,  aud  the  sentries  posted, 
the  colonel  sent  off  a  dozen  resolute  men 
under  an  Alferez,  to  trot  up  the  country 
and  try  to  procure  a  guide. 

We  will  observe,  in  passing,  that  in 
Spanish  America,  so  soon  as  you  le  ive 
the  capitals,  such  as  Lima,  or  Mexico, 
loads,  such  as  we  understand  them  in 
Europe,  no  longer  exist;  you  only  find 
paths  traced,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten, 
by  the  foot-prints  of  wild-beasts,  and 
which  are  so  entangled  one  with  the 
other,  that,  unless  you  have  been  long 
accustomed  to  them,  it  is  almost  im 
possible  to  find  your  way. 

The  Spaniards,  we  grant,  laid  out  wide 
and  firm  roads,  but  since  the  War  of 
Independence,  they  had  been  cut  up, 
deteriorated  and  so  abandoned  by  the 
neglect  of  the  ephemeral  governments 
that  have  followed  each  other  in  Mexico, 
that  with  the  exception  of  the  great 
highways  of  communication  in  the  in 
terior  of  the  country,  the  rest  had  dis 
appeared  under  the  herbage. 

The  little  squad  of  troopers  sent  out 
to  beat  up  the  country  had  started  at  a 
gallop,  but  it  soon  reduced  its  pace,  and 
the  soldiers  and  sergeant  began  laugh 
ing  and  talking,  caring  little  for  the  im 
portant  mission  with  which  they  were 
intrusted. 

The  moon  rose  on  the  horizon,  shed 
ding  her  fantastic  rays  over  the  ground. 
As  we  have  said,  it  was  one  of  those 
lovely  nights  of  the  American  desert 
full  of  strange  odors.  A  majestic  silence 


hovered  over  the  plain,  only  disturbed 
at  intervals  by  those  sounds,  without 
any  known  cause,  which  are  heard  on 
the  savannahs,  and  which  seem  to  be 
the  respiration  of  the  sleeping  world. 

Suddenly  the  mocking-bird  sung 
twice,  and  its  plaintive  and  soft  song 
resounded  melodiously  through  the  air. 

"  Hallo,"  one  of  the  dragoons  said, 
addressing  his  comrade,  "  that's  a  bird 
that  sings  very  late." 

"An  evil  omen,"  the  other  said  with 
a  shake  of  his  head. 

"  Canarios  !  what  omen  are  you  talk 
ing  about,  comrade  ?" 

"  I  have  always  heard  say,"  the  second 
speaker  remarked  sententiously,  "  that 
when  you  hear  a  bird  sing  on  your  left 
at  night  it  predicts  misfortune." 

"  Satan  confound  you  and  your  prog 
nostics." 

At  this  moment  the  song,  which  ap 
peared  previously  some  distance  off, 
could  be  heard  much  more  close,  and 
seemed  to  come  from  some  trees  on  the 
side  of  the  path  the  dragoons  were  fol 
lowing. 

The  Alferez  raised  his  head  and  st^p- 
ped,  as  if  mechanically  trying  to  exf  lain 
the  sound  that  smote  his  ears;  bit  all 
became  silent  again,  so  he  shook  his 
head  and  continued  his  conversation. 

The  detachment  had  been  out  more 
than  an  hour.  During  this  long  stroll, 
the  soldiers  had  discovered  nothing  sus 
picious  ;  as  for  the  guide  they  sought, 
it  is  needless  to  say  that  they  had  not 
found  him,  for  they  had  not  met  a 
living  soul. 

The  Alferez  was  about  to  give  orders 
to  return  to  camp,  when  one  of  the 
troopers  pointed  out  to  him  some  hea 
vy,  black  forms,  apparently  prowling 
about  suspiciously. 

"  What  on  earth  can  that  be  ?"  the 
officer  asked,  after  carefully  examining 
what  was  pointed  out  to  him. 

"  Caspita,"  one  of  the  dragoons  ex 
claimed,  "  that  is  easy  to  see  ;  they  are 
browsing  deer !" 

"  Deer  !"    said  the  Alferez,  in  whom, 
the    hunter's    instinct    was    suddenly 
aroused, "  there  are  at  least  thirty  ;  sup 
pose  we  try  to  catch  some." 
"  It  is  difficult." 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


143 


"Pshaw!"  another  soldier  shouted, 
"  it  is  light  enough  for  each  of  us  to 
send  them  a  bullet." 

"  You  must  by  no  means  use  your 
carbines,"  the  Alferez  interposed  sharp 
ly  ;  "if  our  shots,  re-echoed  through  the 
mountains,  caught  the  ears  of  the  In 
dians,  who  are  probably  ambushed  in 
the  thickets,  we  should  be  ruined." 

"  What  is  to  be  done,  then  ?" 

"  Lasso  them,  caspita,  as  you  wish  to 
try  and  catch  them." 

"  That  is  true  ;  I  did  not  think  of 
that." 

The  dragoons,  delighted  at  the  oppor 
tunity  of  indulging  in  their  favorite 
sport,  dismounted,  fastened  their  horses 
to  the  road-side  trees  and  seized  their 
lassos.  They  then  advanced  cautiously 
toward  the  deer,  which  continued  graz 
ing  tranquilly,  without  appearing  to 
suspect  that  enemies  were  so  near  them. 
On  arriving  at  a  short  distance  from 
the  game,  the  dragoons  separated  in 
order  to  have  room  for  whirling  their 
lassos,  and  making  a  covering  of  each 
tree,  they  managed  to  approach  within 
fifteen  paces  of  the  animals.  Then  they 
stopped,  exchanged  glances,  carefully 
calculated  the  distance,  and,  at  a  signal 
from  their  leader,  sent  their  lassos 
•whizzing  through  the  air. 

A  strange  thing  happened  at  this  mo 
ment,  however. 

All  the  deer-hides  fell  simultaneously 
to  the  ground,  displaying  Valentine, 
Curumilla,  and  a  dozen  Comanche  war 
riors,  who,  profiting  by  the  stupor  of 
the  troopers  at  their  extraordinary 
metamorphosis,  hunted  the  hunters  by 
throwing  lassos  over  their  shoulders 
and  hurled  them  to  the  ground. 

The  ten  dragoons  and  their  leader 
were  prisoners. 

"  Well,  my  friends,"  Valentine  said 
with  a  grin,  "  how  do  you  like  that  sort 
vf  fun  r 

The  startled  dragoons  made  no  reply, 
but  allowed  themselves  to  be  bound ; 
one  alone  muttered  betweer  his  teeth  : 

"  I  was  quite  sure  that  Villain  of  a 
mocking-bird  would  bring  us  ill-luck  ; 
it  sang  on  our  left.  That  never  de 
ceives,  Canarios !" 

Valentine  smiled  at  this  sally.  He 
then  placed  two  fingers  in  his  mouth 


and  imitated  the  cry  of  the  mocking 
bird  with  such  perfection,  that  the  sol 
dier  looked  up  at  the  trees.  He  had 
scarce  ended,  when  a  rustling  was 
heard  among  the  bushes,  and  a  man 
leaped  between  the  hunters  and  their 
prisoners. 

It  was  Eagle-wing,  the  sachem  of  the 
Coras. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

A     FRIENDLY     DISCUSSION. 

AFTER  leaving  his  enemy  (for  the 
mysterious  man  with  whom  he  had  so 
stormy  a  discussion  could  be  nothing 
else),  Red  Cedar  set  out  to  join  the 
regiment,  and  hasten  its  arrival  accord 
ing  to  the  orders  he  had  received.  In 
spite  of  himself,  the  squatter  was  suffer 
ing  from  extraordinary  nervousness,  and 
involuntarily  he  went  over  the  various 
points  of  the  conversation  with  the  per 
son  who  took  such  precautions  in  com 
municating  with  him.  The  threats  he 
had  proffered  recurred  to  his  mind.  It 
appeared  as  if  the  bandit,  who  feared 
nothing  in  the  world,  had  good  reason, 
however,  for  trembling  in  the  presence 
of  the  man  who,  for  more  than  an 
hour,  had  crushed  him  with  his  irony. 

What  reason  could  be  so  powerful  as 
to  produce  so  startling  a  change  in  this 
indomitable  being? 

No  one  could  have  said  ;  for  the 
squatter  was  master  of  his  secret,  and 
would  have  mercilessly  killed  anybody 
he  suspected  of  having  read  even  a 
portion  of  it. 

The  reason  was,  at  any  rate,  verv 
powerful ;  for  after  a  few  minutes  of 
deep  thought,  his  hand  let  go  the  reins 
and  his  head  fell  on  his  breast :  the 
norse,  no  longer  feeling  the  -curb,  stop 
ped  and  began  nibbling  the  young  tree 
shoots. 

The  squatter  did  not  notice  this  halt ; 
he  was  thinking,  and  hoarse  exclaim-, 
tions  now  and  then  came  from  his  chest, 
like  the  growling  of  a  wild  beast.  At 
length  he  raised  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  shouted,  as  he  directed  a 
savage  glance  at  the  starlit  sky,  "  any 


144 


THE    TRAIL-  HUNTER. 


struggle  with  that  demon  is  irn possible. 
1  must  fly,  so  soon  as  possible,  to  the 
prairies  of  the  far  west.  I  will  leave 
this  implacable  foe ;  I  will  fly  from 
Li  in,  as  the  lion  does,  carrying  off  my 
prey  in  my  claws.  I  have  not  a  mo 
ment  to  lose.  What  do  I  care  for  the 
Spaniards  and  their  paltry  disputes  ? 
General  Ventura  will  seek  another 
emissary,  for  more  important  matters 
claim  my  attention.  1  must  go  to  the 
Rancho  del  Coyote,  for  there  alone  I 
shall  find  my  revenge.  Fray  Ambrosio 
and  his  prisoner  can  supply  me  with  the 
weapons  I  need  for  the  terrible  contest 
1  am  compelled  towage  against  that  de 
mon  who  comes  straight  from  hell,  and 
whom  I  will  send  back  there." 

Alter  having  uttered  these  words  in  a 
low  voice,  in  the  fashion  of  men-  wont 
to  live  in  solitude,  Red  Cedar  appeared 
to  regain  all  his  boldness  and  energy. 
He  looked  savagely  around,  and,  bury 
ing  his  spurs  in  his  horse's  flanks,  he 
started  with  the  speed  of  an  arrow  in 
the  direction  of  the  rancho,  which  he 
had  left  bu«"  a  few  hours  previously,  and 
where  his  two  accomplices  still  re 
mained. 

The  rr.Dflk  and  the  gambusmo,  delight 
ed  at  the  unforeseen  termination  of  the 
scene  we  recently  narrated,  delighted 
above  all  at  having  got  rid  of  Dona 
Clara  without  being  immediately  mixed 
up  iu  her  escape,  tranquilly  resumed 
their  game  of  monte,  and  played  with 
that  mental  satisfaction  produced  by 
the  certainty  of  having  nothing  to  re 
proach  themselves  with,  disputing  with 
the  utmost  obstinacy  for  the  few  reals 
they  still  happened  to  have  in  their 
pockets. 

In  the  midst  of  a  most  interesting 
game,  they  heard  the  furious  gallop  ot 
a  horse  up  the  paved  street.  Instinc 
tively  they  stopped  and  listened ;  a  se 
cret  foreboding  seemed  to  warn  tnem 
that  this  horse  was  coming  to  the  ran 
cho,  and  that  its  rider  wanted  them. 

In  truth,  neither  Fray  Ambrosio  nor 
Andres  Garote  had  a  quiet  conscience, 
even  supposing,  which  was  very  doubt 
ful,  that  either  had  a  conscience  at  all, 
for  they  felt  they  were  responsible  to 
Red  Cedar  for  Dona  Clara.  Now  that 


the  maitien  had  escaped  like  a  bird  fly 
ing  from  its  cage,  their  position  with 
their  terrible  ally  appeared  to  them  in 
all  its  desperate  gravity.  They  did  not 
conceal  from  themselves  that  the  squat 
ter  would  demand  a  severe  account  of 
their  conduct,  and  despite  their  cunning 
and  roguishness,  they  knew  not  hosv 
they  should  get  out  of  it. 

The  sharp  gallop  of  the  approaching 
horse  heightened  their  perplexity.  They 
dared  not  communicate  their  fears  to 
each  other,  but  they  sat  with  heads  bent 
forward,  foreseeing  that  they  would 
soon  have  to  sustain  a  very  firm  attack. 

The  horse  slopped  short  before  the 
rancho ;  a  man  dismounted,  and  the 
door  shook  beneath  the  tremendous 
blows  of  his  fists. 

"  Hum  !"  the  gambusino  whispered, 
as  he  blew  out  the  solitary  candle  that 
illumined  the  room.  "  Who  the  deuce 
can  come  at  this  advanced  hour  of  the 
night  1  I  have  a  great  mind  not  to 
open." 

Strange  to  say,  Fray  Ambrosio  had 
apparently  regained  all  his  serenity. 
With  a  smiling  face,  crossed  arms,  and 
back  leaned  ag.tinst  the  wall,  he  seemed 
to  be  a  perfect  stranger  to  what  per 
plexed  his  mate  so  furiously.  At  Ga- 
rote's  remark  an  ironical  smile  played 
round  his  pale  lips  for  a  second,  and  he 
replied  with  the  most  perfect  indiffer 
ence — 

"  You  are  at  liberty  to  act  as  you 
please,  gossip  ;  still  1  think  it  my  duty 
to  warn  you  of  one  thing?" 

"  What  is  it?" 

"  That,  if  you  do  not  open  your  door, 
the  man,  whoever  he  may  be,  now  bat 
tering  it,  is  very  capable  of  breaking  it 
in,  which  would  be  a  decided  nuisance 
for  you." 

"  You  speak  very  much  at  your  ease, 
Senor  Padre,"  the  gambusino  answered, 
ill-temperedly.  "  Suppose  it  be  Red 
Cedar  ?" 

"  The  greater  reason  to  open  the  door* 
if  you  hesitate,  he  will  begin  to  suspect 
you ;  and  then  take  care,  for  he  is  a 
man  capable  of  killing  you  like  a  dog." 

"  That  is  possible  ;  but  do  you  think 
that,  in  such  a  case,  you  will  escape 
with  clean  hands  ?" 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


145 


Fray  Ambrosio  looked  at  him,  shrug 
ged  his  shoulders,  but  made  no  further 
answer. 

"  Will  you  open,  demoniosf"  a  rough 
voice  shouted. 

"  Red  Cedar !"  both  men  whispered. 

"  1  arn  coming,"  Andres  replied,  in  a 
voice  which  terror  caused  to  tremble. 

He  rose  unwillingly,  and  walked 
slowly  towards  the  door,  which  the 
squatter  threatened  to  tear  from  its 
hinges. 

"  A  little  patience,  Caballero,"  the 
gambusino  said,  in  that  honeyed  voice 
peculiar  to  Mexicans  when  they  medi 
tate  some  roguery.  "  Coming,  com 
ing." 

And  he  began  unbarring  the  door. 

"  Make  haste  !"  the  squatter  howled, 
"  for  I  am  in  a  hurry." 

"Hum!  it  is  surely  he  !"  the  gam 
busino  thought.  "  Who  are  you?''  he 
asked. 

"  What !  who  am  1 ?"  Red  Cedar  ex 
claimed,  bounding  with  wrath.  "  Did 
you  not  recognise  me,  or  are  you  having 
a  game  with  me?" 

"  I  never  have  a  game  with  any  one," 
Andres  replied,  imperturbably  :  "  but  I 
warn  you  that,  although  I  fancy  I  recog 
nise  your  voice,  I  shall  not  open  till  vou 
mention  your  name.  The  night  is  too 
'far  advanced  for  me  to  risk  receiving  a 
suspicious  person  into  my  house." 

"  I  will  break  the  door  down." 

"  Try  it,"  the  gambusino  shouted 
boldly,  "  and  by  our  Lady  of  Pilar  I 
will  send  a  bullet  through  your  head." 

At  this  threat  the  squatter  rushed 
against  the  door  in  incredible  fury,  with 
the  evident  intention  of  breaking  it  in  ; 
but,  contrary  to  his  expectations,  though 
it  creaked  and  groaned  on  its  hinges,  it 
did  not  give  way. 

Andres  Garute  had  indulged  in  a  line 
of  reasoning  which  was  far  from  beinw 
illogical,  and  revealed  a  profound  know 
ledge  of  the  human  heart.  He  had  said 
to  himself,  that,  as  he  must  face  Red 
Cedar's  anger,  it  would  be  better  to  let 
it  reach  its  paroxysm  at  once  so  as  to 
have  only  the  decreasing  period  to  en 
dure.  He  smiled  at  the  American's 
sterile  attempts,  then,  and  repeated  his 
request. 

"  Well,  then,"  the  other  said,  furious 


ly,  "  I  am  Red  Cedar.  Do  you  recog 
nise  me  now,  you  devil's  own  Gachu- 
pino  ?" 

"  Of  course  ;  I  see  that  I  can  open 
without  danger  to  your  Excellency." 

And  the  gambusino  hurriedly  drew 
back  the  bolts. 

Red  Cedar  rushed  into  the  room  with 
a  yell  of  fury,  but  Andres  had  put  out 
the  light.  The  squatter  stopped,  sur 
prised  by  the  gloom  which  prevented 
him  distinguishing  any  object. 

"Hallo!"  he  said.  "  What  is  the 
meaning  of  this  darkness  1  I  can  see 
nothing." 

"  Oaspita  /"  Andres  replied,  impu 
dently,  "  do  you  think  I  amuse  myself 
o'  nights  by  watching  the  moon  ?  1  was 
asleep,  compadre,  when  you  came  to 
arouse  me  with  your  infernal  hammer 
ings." 

"  That  is  possible."  the  squatter  re 
marked  ;  "  but  that  was  no  reason  for 
keeping  me  so  long  at  your  door." 

"  Prudence  is  the  mother  of  security. 
We  must  not  let  every  comer  enter  the 
rancho." 

"  Certainly  not ;  I  approve  of  t!  at. 
Still,  you  must  have  recognized  my 
voice." 

"  True.  Still  I  might  be  mistaken  ; 
it  is  difficult  to  know  any  one  through 
the  thickness  of  a  door ;  that  is  why  I 
wished  you  to  give  your  name." 

'•Very  good,  then,"  Red  Cedar  suid, 
as  if  tired  of  combating  arguments 
which  did  not  convince  him.  "And 
^vliere  is  Fray  Ambrosio  ?" 

"  Here,  I  suppose." 

"  He  lias  not  left  the  rancho  ?" 

"  No  ;  unless  he  took  advantage  of 
your  arrival  to  do  so." 

"  Why  should  he  do  that?" 

"  I  don't  know ;  you  question,  and  I 
answer  ;  that's  all." 

"  Why  does  he  not  speak,  if  he  is 
here  ?" 

"  He  is  possibly  asleep." 

"  After  the  row  I  made,  that  is  high 
ly  improbable." 

"  Hang  it,  he  may  be  a  hard  sleeper." 

"  Hum  !"  the  squatter  snorted,  suspi 
ciously  ;  "  light  the  candle." 

Andres  struck  a  match,  and  Red 
Cedar  looked  eagerly  round  the  room 
Fray  Ambrosio  had  disappeared. 


146 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


"  Where  is  the  monk  '?"  the  Ameri 
can  asked. 

"  I  do  not  know  :  probably  gone." 

The  squatter  shook  his  head. 

"  All  this  is  not  clear,"  he  muttered  ; 
"  there  is  treachery  behind  it." 

"That  is  possible,"  the  gambusino 
answered,  calmly. 

Red  Cedar  bent  on  Andres  eyes  that 
flashed  with  fury,  and  roughly  seized 
him  by  the  throat. 

"  Answer,  scoundrel  ?"  he  shouted. 
"What  has  become  of  Dona  Clara?" 

The  gambusiuo  struggled,  though  in 
vain,  to  escape  from  the  clutch  of  the 
squatter,  whose  fingers  entered  his  flesh, 
and  pressed  hirn  as  in  a  vice. 

"  Let  me  loose,"  he  panted, "  you  are 
choking  me  !" 

"  Where  is  Dona  Clara  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know." 

The  squatter  squeezed  more  tightly. 

"  You  do  not  know  !"  he  yelled. 

"  Aie  !"  Andres  whined,  "  I  tell  you 
I  do  not  know." 

"  Malediction  !"  Red  Cedar  went  on. 
"  T  will  kill  you,  picaro,  if  you  are  ob 
stinate." 

"  Let  that  man  go,  and  I  will  tell  you 
all  you  wish  to  know,"  was  said  in  a 
iirrn  voice  by  a  hunter,  who  at  this  mo 
ment  appeared  on  the  threshold. 

The  two  men  turned  in   amazement. 

"  Nathan !"  Red  Cedar  shouted  on 
recognizing  his  son.  "  What  are  you 
doing  here  ?" 

"  I  will  tell  you,  father,"  the  young 
man  said,  as  he  entered  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

NATHAN. 

NATHAN  was  not  asleep,  as  Ellen  sup 
posed,  when  she  urged  on  Shaw  to  de 
vote  himself  to  liberate  Dona  Clara,  and 
he  had  listened  attentively  to  the  con 
versation. 

Nathan  was  a  man  of  about  thirty 
years  of  age,  who,  both  physically 
and  morally,  bore  a  marked  resemblance 
to  his  father.  Hence  the  old  squatter 
had  concentrated  in  him  all  the  affection 
•which  his  uncultivated  savage  nature 
was  capable  of  feeling. 


Since  the  fatal  night,  when  the  chief 
of  the  Coras  had  avtuiged  himself  for 
the  burning  of  his  village  and  the  mur 
der  of  its  inhabitants,  Nathan's  character 
had  grown  still  more  gloomy  ;  a  dull 
and  deep  hatred  boiled  in  his  heart 
against  the  whole  human  race;  he  only 
dreamed  of  assassination  :  he  had  sworn 
in  his  heart  to  revenge  on  all  those  who 
fell  into  his  hands  the  injury  one  man 
had  inflicted  on  him  ;  in  a  word,  Nathan 
loved  none  and  hated  everything. 

When  Shaw  had  disappeared  among 
the  bushes,  and  Ellen,  after  taking  a 
final  glance  around  to  convince  herself 
that  all  was  in  order,  re-entered  the  hut 
that  served  her  as  a  shelter,  Nathan 
rose  cautiously,  threw  his  rifle  over  his 
shoulder,  and  rushed  after  his  brother. 

Another  reason  urged  him  to  foil 
Shaw  and  Ellen's  plans  ;  he  had  a  double 
grudge  against  Don  Miguel — the  first 
for  the  stab  the  Mexican  gentlemen  had 
given  his  father ;  the  second  because 
Don  Miguel  had  compelled  him  to  leave 
the  forest  in  which  his  family  had  so 
daringly  installed  itself. 

Convinced  of  the  importance  of  the 
affair,  and  knowing  the  v^lue  the  squat 
ter  attached  to  carrying  off"  the  maiden, 
who  was  a  most  precious  hostage  for 
him,  Nathan  did  not  lose  a  moment,  but 
reached  Santa  Fe  by  the  most  direct 
route,  bounding  with  the  agility  of  a 
tiger-cat  over  the  obstacles  that  beset 
his  path.  Presently  he  reached  an 
isolated  house,  not  fur  from  which  seve 
ral  men  were,  conversing  together  in  a 
low  voice.  Nathan  stopped  and  listen 
ed  ;  but  he  was  too  far  off,  and  could 
distinguish  nothing. 

The  squatter's  son,  reared  in  the  de 
sert,  was  thoroughly  versed  in  all  its 
stratagems ;  with  the  piercing  eye  of  a 
man  accustomed  to  night  journeys  in 
the  prairie,  he  recognized  well-known 
persons,  and  his  mind  was  at  once  made 
up. 

He  laid  himself  on  the  ground,  and 
following  the  shadow  cast  by  the  moon, 
lest  he  might  be  perceived  by  the  speak 
ers,  he  advanced,  inch  by  inch,  crawling 
like  a  serpent,  stopping  at  intervals  lest 
the  waving  of  the  grass  might  reveal 
his  presence,  in  short,  employing  all 
the  precautions  usual  under  such  cir- 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


147 


cumstances.     At   length    he  reached  a 
clump  of  Peru    trees  only  a  few  yard 
distant  from  the  spot  where  the  men  he 
wished  to  overhear  were  standing.     H 
then  got  up,  leaned    against  the  largest 
tree,  and  prepared  to  listen. 

His  expectations  were  not  deceived  ; 
though  a  tew  words  escaped  him  here 
and  there,  he  was  near  enough  perfectly 
to  catch  the  sense  of  the  conference. 
This  conversation  was,  in  truth,  most 
interesting  to  him  ;  a  sinister  smile  lit 
up  his  face,  and  he  eagerly  clenched  the 
barrel  of  his  rifle. 

Presently  the  party  broke  into  two. 
Valentine,  Curumilla,    and    Unicorn, 
took  the  road  leading  to  the  open  coun 
try,  while  Don  Pablo  and  Father  Sera- 
phin  returned  toward  the  town. 

Valentine  and  his  two  friends  almost 
touched  the  young  man  as  they  passed, 
and  he  instinctively  carried  his  hands  to 
his  pistols ;  they  even  stopped  for  a  mo 
ment  and  cast  suspicious  glances  at  the 
clump  that  concealed  their  foe. 

While  conversing  in  whispers,  Uni 
corn  drew  a  few  branches  aside  and 
peered  in  ;  for  some  seconds  Nathan 
felt,  an  indescribable  agony  ;  a  cold  per 
spiration  stood  at  the  root  of  his  hair 
and  the  blood  coursed  to  his  heart;  in 
a  word,  he  was  afraid.  He  knew  that 
if  these  men,  his  mortal  enemies,  dis 
covered  him,  they  would  be  pitiless 
to  him  and  kill  him  like  a  dog.  But 
this  apprehension  did  not  last  longer 
than  a  lightning  flash. 

Unicorn  carelessly  let  the  leafy  cur 
tain  fall  again,  saying  only  one   word 
to  his  comrades: 
"  Nothing." 

The  latter  resumed  their  march. 
"  I  do  not  know  why,"  said  Valen 
tine,  "  but  I  fancy  there  is    some  one 
hidden  there." 

"  No,"  the    chief    answered,    "  there 
is  nobody." 

"  Well,  be  it    so,"    the  hunter  mut 
tered,  with  a  toss  of  his  head. 

So  soon,  as  he  was  alone,  Nathan 
drew  two  or»  three  deep  breaths,  and 
started  in  pursuit  of  Dona  Pablo  and 
the  missionary,  whom  he  soon  caught  up. 
As  they  did  not  suppose  they  were 
followed,  they  were  conversing  freely 
together. 


In  Spanish  America,  xvlvre  the  days 
are  so  warm  and  the  nights  so  fresh, 
the  inhabitants,  shut  up  at  home  so 
long  as  the  sun  calcines  the  ground, 
go  out  at  nightfall  to  breathe  a  little 
pure  air ;  the  streets,  deserted  in  con 
sequence  of  the  heat,  are  gradually 
peopled ;  benches  are  placed  before 
the  doors,  on  which  persons  recline  to 
smoke  and  gossip,  drink  orangeade, 
strum  the  guitar,  and  sing.  Frequent 
ly  the  entire  night  is  passed  in  these 
innocent  amusements,  and  folks  do  not 
return  home  till  dawn,  in  order  to 
indulge  in  the  sleep  so  grateful  after 
this  long  watch.  Hence  the  Hispano- 
Ainerican  towns  must  be  especially 
visited  by  night,  if  you  wish  to  judge 
truthfully  the  nature  of  this  people — 
a  strange  composite  of  the  most  dis 
cordant  contrasts,  who  only  live  for 
enjoyment,  and  only  accept  from  ex 
istence  the  most  intoxicating  pleasures. 

Still,  on  the  night  to  which  we  re 
fer,  the  town  of  Santa  Fe,  usually  so 
laughing  and  chattering,  was  plunged 
into  a  gloomy  sadness,  the  streets  were 
deserted,  the  doors  closed ;  no  light 
filtered  through  the  hermetically  closed 
windows ;  all  slept  or  at  least  feigned 
to  sleep. 

The  fact  was,  that  Santa  Fe  was  at 
this  moment  in  a  state  of  mortal  agita 
tion,  caused  by  the  condemnation  of 
Don  Miguel  Zarate,  the  richest  land 
owner  in  the  province — a  man  who  was 
loved  and  revered  by  the  whole  popu 
lation.  The  agitation  took  its  origin  in 
the  unexpected  apparition  of  the  C<>- 
manche  war  detachment — those  feroci 
ous  enemies  whose  cruelties  have  be 
come  proverbial  on  the  Mexican  fron 
tier,  and  whose  presence  presaged 
nothing  good. 

Don  Pablo  and  his  companion  walk 
ed  quickly,  like  persons  anxious  to 
reach  a  place  where  they  knew  they 
are  expected,  exchanging  but  a  few 
words  at  intervals,  whose  meaning, 
however,  caught  up  by  the  man  who 
followed  them,  urged  them  still  more 
not  to  let  them  out  of  sight.  They 
thus  traversed  the  greater  part  of  the 
town,  and  on  reaching  the  Calle  de  la 
Merced,  they  stopped  at  their  destina 
tion — a  house  of  handsome  aspect. 


148 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


A  weak  light  burned  at  the  window 
of  a  ground-floor  room.  By  an  instinct 
ive  movement,  the  two  gentlemen  turn 
ed  round  at  the  moment  of  entering  the 
house  but  Nathan  had  slipped  into  a 
doorway,  and  they  did  not  perceive 
him. 

Father  Seraphin  tapped  gently ;  the 
door  was  at  once  opened,  and  they  went 
in. 

Nathan  stationed  himself  in  the  mid 
dle  of  the  street,  with  his  eye  ardently 
fixed  on  the  only  window  of  the  house 
lit  up. 

Ere  long,  shadows  crossed  the  cur 
tains. 

"  Good!"  the  young  man  muttered  ; 
"  but  how  to  warn  the  old  one  that  the 
dove  is  in  her  nest?" 

All  at  once,  a  heavy  hand  was  laid 
on  his  shoulder,  and  Nathan  turned, 
fiercely  clutching  a  bowie-knife.  A  man 
was  before  him,  gloomy,  silent  and 
•wrapped  in  the  thick  folds  of  his  cloak. 
The  American  started. 

"  Go  your  way,"  he  said  in  a  menac 
ing  voice. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  the 
stranger  asked. 

"  How  does  that  concern  you  ?  The 
street  is  free  to  all." 

"  No." 

This  word  was  pronounced  with  a 
sharp  accent. 

Nathan  tried  in  vain  to  scan  the  fea 
tures  of  the  man  with  whom  he  had  to 
deal. 

"  Give  way,"  he  said,  "  or  blood  will 
surely  be  shed  between  us." 

As  sole  reply,  the  stranger  took  a 
pistol  in  his  right  hand,  a  knife  in  his 
left. 

"  Ah !"  Nathan  said,  mockingly, 
"  you  mean  fighting." 

"  For  the  last  time,  withdraw." 

"  Nonsense,  you  are  mad,  senor  Ca- 
ballero ;  the  road  belongs  to  all,  I  tell 
you.  This  place  suits  me,  and  1  shall 
remain." 

"  I  wish  to  be  alone  here  ?" 

"You  mean  to  kill  me,  then?" 

"  If  1  must,  yes,  without  hesitation." 

Tile  two  speakers  had  exchanged 
these  words  in  a  low  and  hurried  voice, 
in  less  time  than  we  have  employed  to 
write  them.  They  stood  but  a  few 


paces  apart  with  flashing  eyes,  ready  to 
rush  on  each  other. 

Nathan  returned  his  pistol  to  his  belt. 
"  No  noise,"  he  said  ;   "  the  knife  will 
do;  besides,  we  are  in  a  country  where 
that  is  the  only  weapon  in  use." 

"  Be  it   so,"    the    stranger    replied ; 
"  then,  you  will  not  give  way  to  me?" 
"  You  would  laugh  at  me  if  I  did," 
the  American  said  with  a  grin. 

"Then  your  blood  will  be  on  your 
own  head." 

"  Or  on  yours." 

The  two  foemen  each  fell  back  a 
pace,  and  stood  on  guard,  with  their 
cloaks  rolled  round  their  left  arms. 

The  moon,  veiled  by  clouds,  shed  no 
light;  the  darkness  was  perfect;  mid 
night  struck  from  the  cathedral ;  the 
voice  of  the  serenos  chanting  the  hour 
could  be  heard  in  the  distance,  announc 
ing  that  all  was  quiet. 

There  was  a  moment's  hesitation, 
which  the  enemies  employed  in  scruti 
nizing  each  other. 

Suddenly  Nathan  uttered  a  hoarse 
yell  rushed  on  his  enemy,  and  threw 
his  cloak  in  his  face,  to  put  him  oti'  his 
guaivl.  The  stranger  parried  the  stroke 
dealt  him,  and  replied  by  another, 
guarded  off  with  equal  dexterity.  The 
two  men  then  seized  each  other  round 
the  waist,and  wrestled  for  some  minutes, 
without  uttering  a  word  ;  at  length  the 
stranger  rolled  on  the  ground  with  a 
heavy  sigh  ;  Nathan's  knife  was  buried 
in  his  chest. 

The  American  rose  with  a  yell  of 
trjumph — his  enemy  was  motionless. 

"Can  I  have  killed  him?"  Nathan 
muttered. 

He  returned  his  knife  to  his  vaquera 
boot,  and  bent  over  the  wounded  man. 
All  at  once  he  started  back,  for  he  had 
recognised  his  brother  Shaw. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  now  ?"  he  said  ; 
but  then  added  carelessly,  "  Pshaw  !  all 
the  worse  for  him.  Why  did  he  come 
across  my  path  ?" 

And,  leaving  there  the  body  of  the 
young  man,  who  gave  no  sign  of  life — 
"  Well,  Heaven  knows,  1  ought  not, 
and  could  not  have  hesitated,"  he  said. 
Shaw  lay  to  all  appearance  dead, 
with  pale  and  drawn  cheeks,  in  the 
centre  of  the  street. 


THE   TRAIL-HUNTER. 


149 


CHAPTER  XLII. 


THE    WOUNDED    MAN. 

NATHAN  proceeded  straight  to  the 
Rancho  del  Coyote,  where  his  unexpect 
ed  arrival  was  a  blessing  for  Andres 
Garote,  whom  the  old  squatter  was 
treating  very  roughly. 

On  hearing  his  son's  words,  Red 
Cedar  let  go  of  the  gambusino,  who 
tottered  back  against  the  wall. 

"  Well,"  he  asked,  "  where  is  Dona 
Clara?" 

"Come  with  me,  father,"  the  young 
man  answered ;  "  I  will  lead  you  to 
her." 

"  You  know  her  hiding-place,  then  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  so  do  I,"  Fray  Ambrosio  shout 
ed,  as  he  rushed  into  the  room  with 
discomfited  features ;  "  I  felt  sure  I 
should  discover  her." 

Red  Cedar  looked  at  him  in  amaze 
ment,  but  the  monk  did  not  wince. 

"  What  has  happened  to  her?"  the 
squatter  said  presently,  as  he  looked 
suspiciously  from  the  monk  to  the  gam 
busino. 

"  A  very  simple  matter,"  Fray  Am 
brosio  answered,  with  an  inimitably 
truthful  accent  ;  "  about  two  hours 
back  your  son  Shaw  came  here." 

"Shaw  !"  the  squatter  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  the  youngest  of  your  sons  ;  he 
is  called  so,  1  think  ?'' 

"Yes;  goon." 

"  Very  good.  He  presented  himself 
to  us  as  coming  from  you  to  remove 
our  prisoner." 

"And  what  did  you  do?"  the  squat 
ter  asked,  impatiently. 

"  What  could  we  do  ?" 

"  Why,  oppose  the  girl's  departure." 

"  Caxpita  !  do  you  fancy  we  let  her 
go  so?"themonk  asked,  irnperturbably. 

The  squatter  looked  at  him  in  sur 
prise — he  no  longer  understood  any 
thing. 

Like  all  men  of  action,  discussion 
was  to  him  almost  a  matter  of  impos 
sibility  ;  especially  with  an  adversary 
so  crafty  as  the  one  hi-  had  before  him. 
Deceived  by  the  monk's  coolness  and 
the  apparent  frankness  of  his  answers, 
he  wished  to  make  an  end  of  it. 


"  Come,"  he  said,  "  how  did  all  this 
finish  ?"  * 

"  Thanks  to  an  ally  who  came  to 
your  son's  help,  and  to  whom  we  were 
obliged  to  bow " 

"An  ally!  What  man  can  be  so 
bold  as  to  dare " 

"  Eh  !"  the  monk  sharply  interrupted 
Red  Cedar,  "  that  man  is  a  priest,  to 
whom  you  have  already  bowed  many  a 
time." 

"  You  are  jesting,  Senor  Padre,'1  the 
squatter  exclaimed,  savagely. 

"  Not  the  least  in  the  world.  Had  it 
been  any  one  else,  1  should  have  resist 
ed  ;  but  I,  too,  belong  to  the  Church  ; 
and,  as  Father  Seraphin  is  my  superior, 
I  wan  forced  to  obey  him." 

"  What !"  the  squatter  said,  with  a 
groan,  "  is  he  not  dead  ?" 

"  It  appears,"  the  monk  remarked, 
ironically,  "as  if  those  you  kill  are  all 
in  good  state  of  health,  Red  Cedar." 

At  this  allusion  fb  Don  Pablo's  death, 
the  squatter  stifled  a  cry  of  anger,  and 
clenched  his  fists. 

"  Good  !"  he  said  ;  "  If  I  do  not  al 
ways  kill,  I  know  how  to  lake  my  re 
venge.  Where  is  Dona  Clara,  at  this 
moment  ?" 

"  In  a  house  no  great  distance  from 
here,"  Nathan  answered. 

"  Have  you  seen  her  ?''  the  squatter 
asked. 

"  No  ;  but  I  followed  Don  Pablo  and 
the  missionary  to  that  house,  which 
they  entered,  and  as  they  were  ignorant 
that  I  was  close  to  them,  their  conversa 
tion  left  me  no  doubt  as  to  the  where 
abouts  of  the  girl." 

An  ill-omened  smile  momentarily  lit 
up  the  old  bandit's  features. 

"  Good  !"  he  said ;  "  as  the  dove  is 
in  her  nest,  we  shall  be  able  to  find  her. 
What  o'clock  is  it?" 

"  Three  in  the  morning,"  Andres  in 
terjected.  "  Day  will  soon  break." 

"  We  must  make  haste,  then.  Fol 
low  me,  all  of  you."  Then  he  added, 
"  But  what  has  become  of  Shaw?  Does 
any  one  of  you  know  ?" 

"  You  will  probably  find  him  at  the 
door  of  Dona  Clara's  house,"  Nathan 
said,  in  a  hollow  voice. 

"  How  so  ?  Has  my  son  entered  in 
to  a  compact  with  my  enemies  ?" 


150 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


"  Yes  ;  as  he  arranged  with  them  to 
carry  off  your  prisoner." 

%<  Oh  !  I  will  kill  him  if  he  prove  a 
traitor !"  the  squatter  shouted  with  an 
accent  that  made  the  blood  run  cold  in 
the  veins  of  his  hearers. 

Nathan  fell  back  two  steps,  drew  his 
knife  from  his  boot,  and  showed  it  to 
his  father. 

"  That  is  done,"  he  said,  harshly. 
"  Shaw  tried  to  stab  me,  so  I  killed 
him." 

After  these  mournful  words,  there 
was  a  moment  of  silence  in  the  rancho. 
All  these  men,  though  their  hearts  were 
steeled  by  crime,  shuddered  involuntar- 

ay- 

Without,  the  night  was  gloomy  ;  the 
wind  whistled  sadly  ;  the  flickering 
light  of  the  candle  threw  a  weird  light 
over  the  scene,  which  contained  a  cer 
tain  degree  of  terrible  poetry. 

The  squatter  passed  his  hard  hand 
over  his  dank  brow.  A  sigh,  like  a 
howl,  painfully  forced  its  way  from  his 
oppressed  chest. 

"  He  was  my  last  born,"  he  said,  in 
a  voice  broken. by  an  emotion  he  could 
not  control.  "  He  deserved  death,  but 
he  ought  not  to  have  received  it  at  his 
brother's  hands." 

"  Father  !"   Nathan  muttered. 

"Silence!"  Red  Cedar  shouted,  in  a 
hollow  voice,  as  he  stamped  his  foot 
passionately  on  the  ground  ;  "  what  is 
done  cannot  be  undone  ;  but  woe  to  my 
enemies'  family  !  Oh  !  I  feel  now  that 
I  can  take  such  vengeance  on  them  as 
will  make  all  shudder  who  hear  it  spok 
en  of !" 

After  uttering  these  words,  which 
were  listened  to  in  silence,  the  squatter 
walked  a  few  steps  up  the  rancho.  He 
approached  a  table,  seized  a  buttle  half 
full  of  mezcal  that  stood  on  it,  and 
emptied  it  at  a  draught.  When  he  had 
finished  drinking,  he  threw  down  the 
bottle,  which  broke  with  a  crash,  and 
said  to  his  mates  in  a  hollow  voice  : 

"  Let  us  be  off!  We  have  wasted 
too  much  time  here  already  !" 

And  he  rushed  out  of  the  rancho,  the 
others  following  close  at  his  heels. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Don  Pablo  and 
Father  S  Taphin  were  in  the  house. 

The  priest    had  taken  the    rnaideii  to 


the  house  of  an  honest  family  which 
owed  him  great  obligations,  and  was 
t'>o  happy  to  receive  the  poor  sufferer. 
The  missionary  did  not  intend,  however, 
to  let  her  be  long  a  burthen  to  these 
worthy  people.  At  daybreak  he  in 
tended  to  deliver  her  to  certain  rela 
tions  of  her  father,  who  inhabited  a  ha 
cienda  a  few  leagues  from  Santa  Fe. 

Dona  Clara  had  been  placed  in  a 
comfortable  room  by  her  hosts.  Their 
first  care  had  been  to  make  her  doff  the 
Indian  robes  for  others  more  suitable 
to  her  birth  and  position.  The  maiden 
worn  out  by  poignant  emotions  of  the 
scene  she  had  witnessed,  was  on  the 
point  of  retiring  to  bed,  when  Father 
Seraphin  and  Don  Pablo  tapped  at  the 
door  of  her  room.  She  hastily  opened 
it,  and  the  sight  of  her  brother,  whom 
she  had  not  hoped  to  see  so  speedily, 
overwhelmed  her  with  joy. 

An  hour  soon  slipped  away  in  plea 
sant  chat. 

Don  Pablo  was  carefnl  not  to  tell 
his  sister  of  the  misfortune  that  had  be 
fallen  her  father;  for  he  did  not  wish 
to  dull  by  that  confession  the  joy  the 
poor  girl  promised  herself  for  the  mor 
row.  Then,  as  the -night  was  advanc 
ing,  the  two  men  withdrew,  so  as  to  al 
low  her  to  enjoy  that  rest  so  needed  to 
strengthen  her  for  the  long  journey  to 
the  haciendo,  promising  to  come  and 
fetch  htr  in  a  few  hours. 

Father  Seraphin  generously  offered 
Don  Pablo  GO  pass  the  night  with  him 
by  sharing  the  small  lodging  he  had  not 
far  from  the  Plaza  de  la  Merced,  and 
th'e  young  man  eagerly  accepted.  It 
was  too  late  to  seek  a  lodging  at  a  lo- 
canda,  and  in  this  way  he  would  be  all 
the  sooner  with  his  sister  next  morning. 

After  a  lengthened  leave-taking,  they, 
therefore,  left  the  house,  and,  so  soon  as 
they  were  gone,  Dona  Clara  threw  her 
self,  ready  dressed,  into  a  hammock 
hantnno-  at  one  end  of  the  room,  when 

O         O  ' 

she  speedily  fell  asleep. 

On  reaching  the  street,  Don  Pablo 
saw  a  body  lying  motionless  in  front  of 
the  house. 

"  What's  this  ?"  he  asked,  in  surprise. 

"A  poor  wretch  whom  the  ladrones 
killed  in  order  to  plunder  him,"  the 
missionary  answered. 


THE    TRAILHUNTER. 


151 


"  That  is  possible." 
"  Perhaps  he  is  not  quite  dead,"  the 
missionary  went  on ;  "  it  is  our  duty  to 
succor  him." 

"  For  what  good  ?"  Don  Pablo  said, 
with  an  air  of  indifference  ;  "  if  a  sereno 
were  to  pass  he  might  accuse  us  of  hav 
ing  killed  the  man." 

"  Nay,  sir,"  the  missionary  observed, 
"  the  ways  of  the  Lord  are  impenetrable. 
If  He  allowed  us  to  come  across  this 
unhappy  man,  it  was  because  He  judged 
in  His  wisdom  that  we  might  prove  of 
use  to  him." 

"  Be  it  so,"  the  young  man  said ; 
"  let  us  look  at  him,  as  you  wish  it. 
But  you  know  that  in  this  country  good 
actions  of  such  a  nature  generally  entail 
annoyance." 

"That  is  true,  my  son.  Well,  we 
will  run  the  risk,"  said  the  missionary, 
who  had  already  bent  over  the  wounded 
man. 

"  As  you  please,"  Don  Pablo  said,  as 
he  followed  him. 

Shaw,  for  it  was  he,  gave  no  signs  of 
life. 

The  missionary  examined  him,  then 
rose  hastily,  seized  Don  Pablo's  arm, 
and  drew  him  to  him,  as  he  whispered : 

"  Look !" 

"Shaw  !"  the  Mexican  exclaimed,  in 
surprise  ;  "  what  could  that  man  be  do 
ing  here  ?" 

"  Help  me,  and  we  shall  learn.  The 
poor  fehow  has  only  fainted  ;  and  the 
loss  of  blood  has  produced  this  sem 
blance  to  death." 

Don  Pablo,  greatly  perplexed  by  this 
singular  meeting,  obeyed  the  missionary 
without  further  remark.  The  two  men 
raised  the  wounded  lad,  and  carried  him 
gently  to  Father  Seraphin's  lodging, 
where  they  proposed  to  give  him  all  the 
help  his  condition  required. 

They  had  scarce  turned  the  corner  of 
the  street,  when  several  men  appeared 
at  the  other  extremity. 

They  were  Red  Cedar  and  his  con 
federates.  On  arriving  in  front  of  the 
house  they  stopped  :  all  the  windows 
were  in  the  deepest  obscurity. 

"Which  is  the  girl's  room?"  the 
squatter  asked  in  a  whisper. 

"  This  one,"  Nathan  said,  as  he  point 
ed  to  it. 


Red  Cedar  crawled  up  to  the  house, 
drove  hi.s  dagger  int>>  the  wall,  raised 
himself  to  the  window,  and  placed  his 
face  against  a  pane. 

"  All  is  well !  she  sleeps  !"  he  said, 
when  he  came  down.  "  You,  Fray  Am- 
brosio,  to  one  corner  of  the  street;  you, 
Garote,  to  the  other,  and  do  not  let  me 
be  surprised." 

The  monk  and  the  gambusino  went 
to  their  allotted  posts. 

When  lied  Cedar  was  alone  with  his 
son  he  bent  and  whispered  in  his  ear  : 

"  What  did  you  do  with  your  broth 
er  after  stabbing  him  ?" 

"  I  left  him  on  the  spot  where  he 
fell." 

"  Where  was  that  ?" 

"Just  where  we  now  stand." 

The  squatter  stooped  down  to  the 
ground,  and  walked  a  few  steps,  care 
fully  examining  the  bloody  traces  left 
on  the  pebbles. 

"  He  has  been  carried  off,"  he  said, 
when  he  rose  again.  "  Perhaps  he  is 
not  dead." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  the  young  man  ob 
served,  with  a  shake  of  his  head. 

His  father  gave  him  a  most  signifi 
cant  look. 

"  To  .work,"  he  said  coldly. 

And  they  prepared  to  escalade  the 
window. 


CHAPTER    XLIII. 

INDIAN    DIPLOMACY. 

WE  will  return,  for  the  present,  to 
Valentine  and  his  comrades. 

The  sudden  apparition  of  the  sachem 
of  the  Coras  had  produced  a  certain  de 
gree  of  emotion  among  the  hunters  and 
the  Comanches. 

Valentine,  the  first  to  recover  from 
his  surprise,  addressed  Eagle-wing. 

"My  brother  is  welcome,"  he  said, 
as  he  held  out  his  hand,  which  the  In 
dian  warmly  pressed,  "  What  news 
does  the  chief  bring  us  ?" 

"  Good,"  the  Coras  answered  laconi 
cally. 

"  All  the  better,"  the  hunter  said 
gaily  j  "  for  some  time  past  all  we  have 


152 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


received  has  been  so  bad  that  my  broth 
er's  will  create  a  diversion." 

The  Indian  smiled  at  this  sally,  but 
made  no  remark. 

"  My  brother  can  speak,"  Valentine 
continued  ;  "  he  is  surrounded  by  none 
but  friends." 

"  I  know  it,"  the  chief  answered,  as 
he  bowed  gracefully  to  the  company. 
"  Since  I  left  my  brother  two  months 
have  passed  away  :  I  have  worn  out 
many  mocassins  amid  the  thorns  and 
brambles  of  the  desert ;  I  have  been 
beyond  the  Great  Lakes  to  the  villages 
of  my  nation." 

"Good;  my  brother  is  a  chief;  he 
was  doubtless  well  received  by  the  sa- 
chernsof  the  Coras  of  the  Great  Lakes." 

"  Mookapec  is  a  renowned  warrior 
among  his  people,"  the  Indian  answered 
proudly  ;  "  his  place  by  the  council-fire 
of  the  nation  is  pointed  out.  The  chiefs 
saw  him  with  joy :  on  his  road  he  had 
taken  the  scalps  of  seven  gachupinos  : 
they  are  now  drying  before  the  great 
medicine  lodge." 

"It  was  your  right  to  do  so,  chief, 
and  I  cannot  blame  you.  The  Span 
iards  have  done  you  harm  enough  for 
you  to  requite  them." 

"  My  brother  speaks  well  ;  his  skin 
is  white,  but  his  heart  is  red." 

"  Hum,"  observed  Valentine  ;  "  I  am 
a  friend  to  justice;  vengeance  is  permis 
sible  against  treachery.  Go  on,  chief.'' 

The  hunter's  comrades  had  drawn 
nearer,  and  now  formed  a  circle  round 
the  two  speakers. 

Curumilla  was  occupied  silently,  as 
was  his  wont,  in  completely  stripping 
each  Spanish  prisoner,  whom  he  then 
bound  in  such  a  way  that  the  slightest 
movement  was  impossible. 

Valentine,  although  time  pressed, 
knew  too  well  the  Red-skin  character 
to  try  and  hurry  Eagle-wing  on.  He 
felt  certain  that  the  chief  had  important 
news  to  communicate  to  him ;  but  it 
•would  have  been  no  use  trying  to  draw 
it  from  him  ;  hence  he  allowed  him  to 
act  as  he  pleased. 

Unicorn,  leaning  on  his  rifle,  listened 
attentively,  without  evincing  the  slight 
est  impatience. 

"  Did  my  brother  remain  long  with 
his  tribe,"  Valentine  continued. 


"  Two  suns.  Eagle-wing  had  left  be 
hind  him  friends  to  whom  his  heart 
drew  him." 

"  Thanks,  chief,  for  the  pleasant  recol 
lections  of  us." 

"  The  chiefs  assembled  in  council  to 
hear  the  words  of  Eagle- wing,"  the  Coras 
continued.  "  They  shuddered  with  fury 
on  hearing  of  the  massacre  of  their 
children  ;  but  Mookapec  had  formed  his 
plan,  and  two  hundred  warriors  are 
assembled  beneath  his  totem." 

"  Good  !"  said  Valentine,  '*  the  chief 
will  avenge  himself." 

The  Indian  smiled. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  my  young  men  have 
their  orders,  they  know  what  I  mean  to 
do." 

"  Very  good ;  in  that  case  they  are 
near  here  ?" 

"  No,"  the  chief  replied,  with  a  shake 
of  his  head.  "  Eagle-wing  does  not 
march  with  them  ;  he  has  hidden  him 
self  under  the  skin  of  an  Apache  dog." 

"  What  does  my  brother  say  ?"  Val 
entine  asked  with  amazement. 

"  My  white  brother  is  quick,"  Unicorn 
said,  sententiously  ;  "  he  will  letMook 
apec  speak.     He  is  a  great  sachem,  an 
wisdom  dwells  in  him." 

Valentine  shook  his  head,  however, 
and  said  : 

"  Hum  !  answering  one  act  of  treach 
ery  by  another,  that  is  not  the  way  in 
which  the  warriors  of  my  nation  be 
have." 

"  The  nation  of  my  brother  is  great, 
and  strong  as  the  grizzly  bear,"  Unicorn 
said  ;  "  it  does  not  need  to  march  along 
hidden  paths.  The  poor  Indians  are 
weak  as  the  beaver,  but  like  him  they 
are  very  cunning." 

"  That  is  true,"  Valentine  replied, 
"cunning  must  be  allowed  you  in  deal 
ing  with  the  implacable  enemies  who 
surround  you.  1  was  wrong  ;  so  go  on, 
chief;  tell  us  what  deviltry  you  have 
invented,  and  if  it  is  ingenious.  Well, 
1  will  be  the  first  to  applaud  it." 

"  Wah,  my  brother  shall  judge.  Red 
Cedar  is  about  to  enter  the  desert,  as 
my  brother  doubtless  knows?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Does  my  brother  know  the  Gringo 
has  asked  the  Apaches  for  a  guide  ]" 

"  No,  I  did  not." 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


153 


"  Good.      Stanapat,    the  great  chie 

of  the  Apaches,  sent  a  Navajoe  warrio 

to  act  as  guide  to  Red  Cedar." 

"  Well  ?" 

"  The  Navajoe  was  scalped  by  Eagle 

wing." 

"  Ah,  ah  !  then  Red  Cedar  cannot  se 
out  ?" 

"  Yes,  he  can  do  so  when  he  likes." 
"  How  so  ?" 

"  Because  Eagle-wing  takes  the  place 
of  the  guide." 
Unicorn  smiled. 

"  My  brother  has  a  deal  of  wisdom,' 
he  said. 

"  Hum  !"  Valentine  remarked,  with 
some  show  of  ill-humor.  "  It  is  possi 
ble,  but  you  play  for  a  heavy  stake, 
chief.  That  old  villain  is  as  crafty  as 
ten  monkeys  and  ten  opossums  united. 
I  warn  you  that  he  will  recognize  you." 
"  No." 

"  I  wish  it ;  for  if  he  does,  you  are  a 
lost  man." 

"  Good,  my  brother  can  be  easy. 
Eaglewing  is  a  warrior;  he  will  see 
the  white  hunter  again  in  the  desert." 

"  I    wish    so,    chief;    but    I    doubt. 
'However,   act  as   you   please.     When 
will  you  join  Red  Cedar  ?" 
"  This  night." 

"  You  are  going  to  leave  us?" 
"At  ouce.     Eaglewing  has  nothing 
more  to  confide  to  his  brother." 

And,  after  bowing  courteously  to  the 
company,  the  Coras  chief  glided  into 
the  thicket,  in  which  he  disappeared 
almost  instantaneously. 

Valentine  looked  after  him  for  some 
time. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  at  last,  with  a  thought 
ful  air,    "  his  project   is  a  daring  one, 
such  as  might  be  expected  from  so  great 
a  warrior.     May    heaven   protect   him, 
and   allow  him  to   succeed  !     Well,  we 
shall  see ;  perhaps  all  is  for  the  best  so." 
And  he  turned  to  Curumilla. 
"  The  clothes  ?"  he  said. 
"  Here  they  are,"  the  Aucas  answer 
ed,  laconically,  as  he  pointed  to  an  en 
ormous  heap  of  clothing. 

"  What  does  my  brother  mean  to  do 
with  them  ?"  Unicorn  asked. 

"  My  brother  will  see,"  Valentine 
said,  with  a  smile,  "  each  of  us  is  going 
to  put  on  one  of  those  uniforms." 


ThtiComanche  drew  himself  up  haugh 
tily. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  Unicorn  does  not 
put  oft' the  dress  of  his  people.  What 
need  have  we  of  this  disguise  ?" 

"  In  order  to  encer  the  carnp  of  the 
Spaniards  without  being  discovered." 

"  Wah  !  for  what  good  ?  Unicorn 
will  summon  his  young  men  to  cut  a 
passage  through  the  corpses  of  the  gach- 
upinos." 

But  Valentine  shook  his  head  mourn 
fully. 

"  It  is  true,"  he  remarked,  "  we  could 
do  so.  But  why  shed  blood  needless- 
y  ?  No  ;  let  my  brother  put  confidence 
n  me." 

"The  hunter  will  act  rightly.  Uni 
corn  knows  it,  and  he  leaves  him  free ; 
)ut  Unicorn  is  a  chief,  he  cannot  put 
ou  the  clothes  of  the  palefaces." 

Valentine  no  longer  insisted,  as  it 
.vould  have  been  unavailing;  so  he 
greed  to  modify  his  plan.  He  made 
each  of  his  comrades  put  on  a  dragoon 
uniform,  and  himself  donned  the  clothes 
tripped  from  the  Alferez.  When  all 
his  metamorphosis  was  as  complete  as 
)ossible,  he  turned  to  Unicorn. 

"  The  chief  will  remain  here,"  he 
aid,  "  to  guard  the  prisoners." 

"Good/'  the  Cornauche  answered. 
'  Is  Unicorn,  then,  a  chattering  old  wo- 
nan,  that  warriors  place  him  on  one 

e  r 

"  My  brother  does  not  understand 
ne.  1  do  not  wish  to  insult  him,  but 
e  cannot  enter  the  camp  with  us." 

The  chief  shrugged  his  shoulders  dis- 
ainfully. 

"The  Comanche  warriors  can  crawl 
s  well  as  serpents.  Unicorn  will 
nter." 

"  Let  my  brother  come,  then,  since 
e  wishes  it." 

"  Good ;  my  brother  is  vexed ;  a 
loud  has  passed  over  his  face.  He  is 
wrong;  his  friend  loves  him." 

"  I  know  it,  chief,  I  know  it.  I  am 
ot  vexed,  but  my  heart  is  sad  to  see  a 
arrior  thus  run  the  risk  of  being  killed 
ithout  any  necessity." 

"  Unicorn  is  a  sachem  ;  he  must  give 
n  example  to  his  young  men  on  the 
ar-path." 

Valentine  gave  a  nod  of  assent. 


154 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


"Here  are  the  horses  of  the  pale 
faces,"  Curumilla  said;  "my  brother 
will  need  them." 

"  That  is  true,"  the  hunter  answered, 
with  a  smile ;  "  my  brother  is  a  areat 
chief — he  thinks  of  everything." 

Every  one  mounted,  Unicorn  alone 
remaining  a-foot. 

Valentine  placed  the  Alferez  by  his 
side. 

"  Caballero,"  he  said  to  him,  "  you 
will  act  as  our  guide  to  the  camp.  We 
do  not  wish  to  take  the  lives  of  your 
countrymen ;  our  intention  is  simply  to 
prevent  them  following  us  at  present. 
Pay  attention  to  rny  words :  if  you  at 
tempt  to  deceive  us,  I  blow  out  your 
brains.  You  are  warned." 

The  Spaniard  bowed,  but  made  no 
reply.  As  for  the  prisoners,  they  had 
been  so  conscientiously  tied  by  Curu- 
rnilla  that  there  was  no  chance  of  their 
escaping.  The  little  band  then  set  out, 
Unicorn  disappearing  among  the  trees. 

When  they  came  a  short  distance 
from  the  bivouac,  a  sentry  challenged, 
"Who  goes  there?" 

"  Answer,"  Valentine  whispered  the 
Alferez. 

He  did  so. 

They  passed,  and  the  sentry,  sudden 
ly  seized  by  Curumilla,  was  bound  and 
gagged  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  all 
the  other  sentinels  sharing  the  same 
fate.  The  Mexicans  keep  up  a  very  bad 
watch  in  the  field,  even  in  the  presence 
of  an  enemy;  the  greater  reason,  then, 
for  them  to  neglect  all  precaution  when 
they  fancy  themselves  in  safety.  Every 
body  was  asleep,  and  Valentine  and  his 
friends  were  masters  of  the  camp.  The 
regiment  of  dragoons  had  been  surprised 
without  striking  a  blow. 

Valentine's  comrades  dismounted  ; 
they  knew  exactly  how  to  act,  and  did 
not  deviate  from  the  instructions  given 
by  their  leader.  They  proceeded  from 
picket  to  picket,  removing  the  horses, 
which  were  led  out'  of  camp.  Within 
twenty  minutes  all  had  been  carried  off. 

Valentine  had  anxiously  followed  the 
movements  of  his  men.  When  they 
had  finished,  he  raised  the  curtain  of  the 
colonel's  tent,  and  found  himself  face  to 
face  with  Unicorn,  from  whose  waist- 
belt  hung  a  reeking  scalp. 


Valentine  could  not  repress  a  move 
ment  of  horror. 

"  What  have  you  done,  chief?"  he 
asked,  reproachfully. 

"  Unicorn  has  killed  his  enemy," 
the  Comanche  replied,  peremptorily. 
"  When  the  leader  of  the  antelopes  is 
killed,  his  flock  disperses  ;  the  gachupi- 
nos  will  do  the  same." 

Valentine  drew  near  the  colonel.  The 
unhappy  man,  fearfully  mutilated,  with 
his  brain  laid  bare,  and  his  heart  pierced 
by  the  knife  of  the  implacable  Indian, 
lay  stark  dead,  in  a  pool  of  blood,  in  the 
middle  of  the  tent.  The  hunter  vented 
a  sigh  at  this  sorry  sight. 

"  Poor  devil !:'  he  said,  with  an  air 
of  compassion. 

After  this  short  funeral  oration,  he 
took  away  his  sabre  and  epaulettes,  left 
the  tent,  followed  by  the  Indian  chief, 
and  rejoined  his  comrades. 

The  horses  were  led  to  the  Comanche 
camp,  after  which  Valentine  and  his 
party  wrapped  themselves  in  their 
blankets,  and  slept  calmly  till  daybreak. 

The  dragoons  were  no  longer  to  be 
feared . 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

THE      STRANGER. 

FATHER  SERAPHIN  and  Don  Pablo  we 
left  bearing  the  wounded  man  to  the 
missionary's  lodging.  Although  the 
house  to  which  they  were  proceeding 
was  but  a  short  distance  off,  yet  the 
two  gentlemen,  compelled  to  take  ev 
ery  precaution,  employed  considerable 
time  on  the  journey.  Nearly  every 
step  they  were  compelled  to  halt,  so  as 
not  to  fatigue  too  greatly  the  wounded 
man,  whose  inert  limbs  swayed  in  every 
direction. 

"  The  man  is  dead,"  Don  Pablo  re 
marked,  during  a  halt  they  made  on  the 
Plaza  de  la  Merced. 

"  1  fear  so,"  the  missionary  answered, 
sadly  ;  "  still,  as  we  are  not  certain  of 
it,  our  conscience  bids  us  to  bestow  our 
care  on  him,  until  we  acquire  the  pain 
ful  conviction  that  it  avails  him 
nought." 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


155 


"  Father,  the  love  of  one's  neighbor 
often  carries  you  too  far ;  better  were 
it,  perhaps,  if  this  wretch  did  not  come 
back  to  life." 

"  You  are  severe,  my  friend.  This 
man  is  still  young — almost  a  boy. 
Trained  amid  a  family  of  bandits,  never 
having  aught  but  evil  examples  before 
him,  he  has  hitherto  only  done  evil,  in 
a  spirit  of  imitation.  Who  knows 
whether  this  fearful  wound  may  not  of 
fer  him  the  means  to  enter  the  society 
of  honest  people,  which  he  has  till  now 
been  ignorant  of?  I  repeat  to  you,  my 
friend,  the  ways  of  the  Lord  are  inscru 
table." 

"  I  will  do  what  you  wish,  father. 
You  have  entire  power  over  me.  Still, 
I  fear  that  all  our  care  will  be  thrown 
away." 

"God,  whose  humble  instruments 
we  are,  will  prove  you  wrong,  I  hope. 
Come,  a  little  courage,  a  few  paces  fur 
ther,  and  we  shall  have  arrived." 

"  Come  on  then,"  Don  Pablo  said 
with  resignation. 

Father  Seraphin  lodged  at  a  house  of 
modest  appearance,  built  of  adobes  and 
reeds,  in  a  small  room  he  hired  from  a 
poor  widow,  for  the  small  sum  of  nine 
reals  a  month. 

This  room,  very  small,  and  which 
only  received  air  from  a  window  open 
ing  on  an  inner  yard,  was  a  perfect 
conventual  cell,  as  far  as  furniture  was 
concerned,  for  the  latter  consisted  of  a 
wooden  frame,  over  which  a  bull-hide 
was  stretched,  and  served  as  the  mis 
sionary's  bed  ;  a  butacca  and  a  prie-dieu, 
above  which  a  copper  crucifix  was  fas 
tened  to  the  whitewashed  wall.  But, 
like  all  cells,  this  room  was  marvellous 
ly  clean.  From  a  few  nails  hung  the 
well-worn  clothes  of  the  poor  priest, 
and  a  shelf  supported  vials  and  flasks 
which  doubtless  contained  medica 
ments  ;  for,  like  all  the  missionaries, 
Father  Seraphin  had  a  rudimentary 
knowledge  of  medicine,  and  took  in 
charge  both  the  souls  and  bodies  of  his 
neophytes. 

The  father  lit  a  candle  of  yellow  tal 
low  standing  in  an  iron  candlestick,  and, 
aided  by  Don  Pablo,  laid  the  wounded 
man  ou  his  own  bed  j  after  which  the 


young  man  fell  back  into  the  butacca  to 
regain  his  breath. 

Father  Seraphin,  on  whom,  spite  of  his 
fragile  appearance,  the  fatigue  had  pro 
duced  no  apparent  effect,  then  went 
down  stairs  to  lock  the  street-door, 
which  he  had  left  open. 

As  he  pushed  it  to,  he  felt  an  opposi 
tion  outside,  and  a  man  soon  entered 
the  yard. 

"  Pardon,  my  reverend  father,"  the 
stranger  said ;  "  but  be  kind  enough  not 
to  leave  me  outside." 

"Do  you  live  in  this  house  ?" 

"  No,"  the  stranger  coolly  replied, 
"  I  do  not  live  in  Santa  Fe,  where  1  am 
quite  unknown." 

"  Do  you  ask  hospitality  of  me,  then  ?" 
Father  Seraphin  continued,  much  sur 
prised  at  this  answer. 

"  Not  at  all,  reverend  father." 
x   "  Then  what  do  you  want  1 ',  the  mis 
sionary  said,  still  more  surprised. 

"  I  wish  to  follow  you  to  the  room 
where  you  have  laid  the  wounded  man, 
to  whose  aid  you  came  so  generously  a 
short  time  back." 

"  This   request,    sir "   the    priest 

said,  hesitating. 

"  Has  nothing  that  need  surprise  you. 
I  have  the  greatest  interest  in  seeing 
with  my  own  eyes  in  what  state  that 
man  is,  for  certain  reasons  which  in  no 
way  concern  you." 

"  Do  you  know  who  he  is  ?" 

"  I  do." 

"  Are  you  a  relation  or  friend  of  his  ?" 

"  Neither  one  nor  the  other.  Still,  I 
repeat  to  you,  very  weighty  reasons 
compel  me  lo  see  him  and  speak  with 
him,  if  that  be  possible." 

Father  Seraphin  took  a  searching 
glance  at  the  speaker. 

He  was  a  man  of  great  height,  ap 
parently  in  the  fullest  vigor  of  life.  His 
features,  so  far  as  it  was  possible  to  dis 
tinguish  them  by  the  pale  and  tremu 
lous  moon  beams,  were  handsome,  though 
an  expression  of  unbending  will  was  the 
marked  thing  about  them.  He  wore 
the  dress  of  rich  Mexican  hacienderos, 
and  had  in  his  right  hand  a  magnificent 
ly  inlaid  American  rifle. 

Still  the  missionary  hesitated. 
"  Well,"    the     stranger     continued, 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


"  have  you  made  up  your  mind,  father?" 

"Sir,"  Father  Seraphin  answered  with 
firmness,  "  do  not  take  in  ill  part  what 
I  am  going  to  say  to  you." 

The  stranger  bowed. 

"  I  do  not  know  who  you  are  ;  you 
present  yourself  to  me  in  the  depths  of 
the  night,  under  singular  circumstances. 
You  insist,  with  strange  tenacity,  on 
seeing  the  poor  man  whom  Christian 
charity  compelled  me  to  pick  up.  Pru 
dence  demands  that  I  should  refuse  to 
let  you  see  him." 

A  certain  annoyance  was  depicted  on 
the  stranger's  features. 

"  You  are  right,  father,"  he  answered  ; 
"  appearances  are  against  me.  Unfortu 
nately,  the  explanation  you  demand 
from  me  justly  would  make  us  lose  too 
much  precious  time,  hence  1  cannot  give 
them  to  you  at  this  moment.  All  I 
can  do  is  to  swear,  in  the  face  of  Heaven, 
on  that  crucifix  you  wear  round  your 
neck,  and  which  is  the  symbol  of  our 
redemption,  that  I  only  wish  well  to 
the  man  you  have  housed,  and  that  1  am 
this  moment  seeking  to  punish  a  great 
criminal/' 

The  stranger  uttered  these  words  with 
such  frankness,  and  such  an  air  of  con 
viction,  his  face  glistened  with  so  much 
honesty,  that  the  missionary  felt  con 
vinced  :  he  took  up  the  crucifix  and 
offered  it  to  this  extraordinary  man. 

"  Swear,"  he  said. 

"  I  swear  it,"  he  replied  in  a  firm 
voice. 

"  Good,"  the  priest  went  on,  "now 
you  can  enter,  sir ;  you  are  one  of  our 
selves  ;  1  will  not  even  insult  you  by 
asking  your  name." 

"  My  name  would  teach  you  nothing, 
father,"  the  stranger  said  sadly. 

"Follow  me,  sir." 

The  missionary  locked  the  gate  and 
led  the  stranger  to  his  room,  on  enter 
ing  which  the  new  comer  took  off  his 
hat  reverently,  took  up  a  post  in  a 
corner  of  the  room,  and  did  not  stir. 

*'  Do  not  trouble  yourself  about  me, 
father,"  he  said  in  a  whisper,  "  and  put 
implicit  faith  in  the  oath  I  took." 

The  missionary  only  replied  by  a 
nod,  and  as  the  wounded  man  gave  no 
sign  of  life,  but  still  lay  much  in  the 
position  he  was  first  placed  in,  Father 


Seraplfm  walked  up  to  him.  For  a 
long  time,  however,  the  attention  he 
lavished  on  him  proved  sterile,  and 
seemed  to  pr  duee  no  effect  on  the 
squatter's  sou.  Still,  the  father  did  not 
despair,  although  Don  Pablo  shook  his 
head.  An  hour  thus  passed,  and  no 
ostensible  change  had  taken  place  in 
the  young  rnan'scondition  ;  the  mission 
ary  had  exhausted  all  his  stock  of  know 
ledge,  and  began  to  fear  the  worst. 

At  this  moment  the  stranger  walked 
up  to  him. 

"  My  father,"  he  said,  touching  him 
gently  on  the  arm,  "  you  have  done  all 
that  was  humanly  possible,  but  have 
not  succeeded." 

"  Alas  !  no  !"  the  missionary  said 
sadly. 

"  Will  you  permit  me  to  try  in  my 
turn  ?" 

"  Do  you  fancy  you  will  prove  more 
successful  than  1  ?"  the  priest  asked  in 
surprise. 

"  I  hope  so,"  the  stranger  said  softly. 

"  Still,  you  see  I  have  tried  every 
thing  that  the  medical  art  prescribes  iu 
such  a  case." 

"  That  is  true,  father ;  but  the  In 
dians  possess  certain  secrets  known  only 
to  themselves,  and  which  are  of  great 
efficacy." 

"  I  have  heard  so.  But  do  you  know 
those  secrets  ?" 

"  Some  of  them  have  been  revealed 
to  me;  if  you  will  permit  me,  1  will 
try  their  effects  on  this  young  man, 
who,  as  far  as  1  can  judge,  is  in  a  des 
perate  condition." 

"  I  fear  he  is,  poor  fellow." 

"  We  shall,  therefore,  run  no  risk  in 
trying  the  efficacy  of  my  superior  reme 
dy  upon  him." 

"  Certainly  not." 

The  stranger  bent  over  the  young 
man,  and  regarded  him  for  a  moment 
with  fixed  attention;  then  he  drew 
from  his  pocket  a  flask  of  carved  crys 
tal,  filled  with  a  fluid  as  green  as  emer 
ald.  With  the  point  of  his  dagger  he 
slightly  opened  the  wounded  man's 
closed  teeth,  and  poured  into  his  mouth 
four  or  five  drops  of  the  fluid  contained 
in  the  flask. 

A  strange  thing  then  occurred ;  the 
young  man  gave  vent  to  a  deep  sigh, 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


157 


opened  his  eyes  several  times,  and  sud 
denly,  as  if  moved  by  supernatural 
force,  he  sat  up  and  looked  around  him 
\vith  amazement. 

Don  Pablo  and  the  missionary  were 
almost  inclined  to  believe  in  a  miracle 
so  extraordinary  did  the  fact  appear  to 
them. 

The  stranger  returned  to  his  dark 
corner. 

Suddenly  the  young  man  passed  his 
hand  over  his  dank  forehead,  and  mut 
tered  in  a  hollow  voice  : 

"  Ellen,  my  sister,  it  is  too  late.  I 
cannot  save  her.  See,  see,  they  are 
carrying  her  off;  she  is  lost !" 

And  he  fell  back  on  the  bed,  as  the 
three  men  rushed  towards  him. 

"  He  sleeps  !"  the  missionary  said  in 
amazement. 

"  He  is  saved  1"  the  stranger  answer 
ed. 

"  What  did  he  want  to  say,  though  ?" 
Don  pablo  inquired  anxiously. 

"  Did  you  not  understand  it  ?"  the 
stranger  asked  of  him. 

"  No." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  tell  you." 

"  You !" 

"  Yes,  I ;  listen !  that  lad  Vished  to 
deliver  your  sister  !" 

"  How  do  you  know  ?" 

"  Is  it  true  ?" 

"  It  is;  go  on." 

"  He  was  stabbed  at  the  door  of  the 
house  when  she  sought  shelter." 

"  What  next  ?" 

"  Those  who  stabbed  him  wished  to 
get  him  out  of  the  way,  in  order  to 
carry  her  off  a  second  time." 

"  Oh,  that  is  impossible  !" 

"  It  is  the  fact." 

"  How  do  you  know  it?" 

"  I  do  not  know  it,  but  I  can  read  it 
plainly." 

"  Ah  !"  Don  Pablo  exclaimed  in  des 
pair,  "  my  father — let  us  fly  to  my 
sister's  aid  !" 

The  two  gentlemen  rushed  from  the 
house  with  a  presentiment  of  misfor 
tune. 

When  the  stranger  found  himself 
alone  with  the  wounded  man,  he  walked 
up  to  him,  wrapped  him  in  his  cloak, 
threw  him  over  his  shoulders  as  easy  as 
if  he  were  only  a  child,  and  went  out  in 
10 


his  turn.  On  reaching  the  street,  he 
carefully  closed  the  door,  and  went  off 
at  a  great  rate,  soon  disappearing  in  th**. 
darkness.  At  the  same  instant  the 
melancholy  voice  ^of  the  sereno  could 
be  heard  chanting  : 

"  Ave  Maria  purissima !  Los  cuatro 
han  dado !  Viva  Mexico !  Todo  es 
quieto  !  (Hail,  most  pure  Mary  !  It  has 
struck  four.  Long  live  Mexico  !  All  is 
quiet)." 

What  irony  on  the  part  of  accident 
was  this  cry  after  the  terrible  events  of 
the  night ! 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

GENERAL      VENTURA. 

IT  was  about  six  in  the  morning.  A 
dazzling  sun  poured  down  its  trans 
parent  rays  on  the  streets  of  the  Presi 
dio  of  Santa  Fe,  which  were  already 
full  of  noise  and  movement  at  that 
early  hour  of  the  morning. 

General  Ventura  was  still  plunged  in 
a  deep  sleep,  probably  lulled  by  agree 
able  dreams,  judging  from  the  air  of 
beatitude  spread  over  his  features.  The 
general,  reassured  by  the  speedy  arrival 
of  the  dragoons  promised  him,  fancied 
he  had  nothing  more  to  fear  from  mu+ 
tineers  who  had  hitherto  inspired  him 
with  lively  apprehensions.  He  thought, 
too,  that  by  the  aid  of  the  reinforce 
ments,  he  could  easily  get  rid  of  the 
Comanche,  who,  on  the  previous  day, 
had  so  audaciously  bearded  him  in  the 
very  heart  of  his  palace. 

He  slept,  then,  that  pleasant  morning- 
sleep,  in  which  the  body,  entirely  rested 
from  its  fatigue,  leaves  the  mind  the  en 
tire  liberty  of  its  faculties. 

Suddenly  the  door  of  the  sleeping 
room  in  which  the  worthy  governor 
reposed,  was  torn  violently  open,  and 
an  officer  entered.  General  Ventura, 
aroused  with  a  start,  sat  up  in  his  bed, 
fixing  on  the  importunate  visitor  a 
glance,  at  first  stern,  but  which  at  once 
became  uneasy  on  seeing  the  alarm  de 
picted  on  the  officer's  features. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Senor  Captain 
Don  Lopez?"  he  asked,  trying  in  vain 


153 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


to  give  firmness  to  his  voice,  which 
trembled  involuntarily  from  a  forebod- 
.ing  of  evil. 

Captain  Lopez  was  a  soldier  of  for 
tune,  who  had  grown  grey  in  harness, 
and  contracted  a  species  of  rough  frank 
ness,  that  prevented  him  toning  the 
truth  down  under  any  circumstances, 
which  fact  made  him  appear,  in  the 
General's  eyes,  a  bird  of  very  evil 
omen.  The  captain's  arrival,  therefore, 
doubly  disquieted  the  governor.  In 
the  first  place,  through  his  alarmed 
face  ;  and  secondly,  the  reputation  he 
enjoyed. 

To  the  general's  query  the  captain 
only  replied  the  following  three  storm- 
laden  words : 

"  Nothing  that's  good." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  Have  the 
people  rebelled  ?•'' 

"  On  my  word,  no  !  I  do  not  fancy 
they  even  dream  of  such  a  thing." 

"  Very  well,  then,"  the  general  went 
on,  quite  cheered  by  the  good  news, 
"  what  the  deuce  have  you  to  tell  me, 
•captain  ?" 

"  I  have  not  come  to  tell  you  any 
thing,"  the  other  said,  roughly.  "There 
is  a  soldier  outside  who  has  just  come 
from  I  don't  know  where,  and  who  in 
sists  on  speaking  with  you.  Shall  I 
bring  hirn,  or  send  him  about  his  busi 
ness." 

"  One  moment,"  exclaimed  the  gen 
eral,  whose  features  had  suddenly  be 
come  gloomy  ;  "  who  is  the  soldier  ?" 

"  A  dragoon,  I  fancy." 

"  A  dragoon  !  let  him  come  in  at 
once.  May  heaven  bless  you,  with  all 
your  circumlocution  !  The  man,  doubt 
less,  brings  me  news  of  the  arrival  of 
the  regiment  I  am  expecting,  and  which 
should  have  been  here  before." 

The  captain  shrugged  his  shoulders 
with  an  air  of  doubt. 

"  What  is  it  now  ?"  the  general  said, 
whom  this  expressive  pantomime  emi 
nently  alarmed  ;  "  what  are  you  going 
to  say  ?" 

"  Nothing,  except  that  the  soldier 
•looks  very  sad  to  be  the  bearer  of  such 
good  news." 

"  We  shall  soon  know  what  we  have 
to  depend  on.  Let  him  come  in." 


"  That  is  true,"  said  the  captain,  as 
he  went  off.v 

During  this  conversation  the  general 
had  leaped  from  his  bed,  and  dressed 
himself  with  the  promptness  peculiar  to 
soldiers.  He  now  anxiously  awaited 
the  appearance  of  the  trooper  whom 
Don  Lopez  had  announced  to  him.  In 
/ain  he  tried  to  persuade  himself  thut 
the  captain  was  mistaken,  and  that  the 
soldier  had  been  sent  to  tell  him  of  the 
arrival  of  the  regiment. 

In  spite  of  himself,  he  felt  in  his  heart 
a  species  of  alarm  which  he  could  not 
account  for,  and  yet  nothing-  could  dis 
sipate. 

A  few  minutes  were  thus  passed  in 
febrile  restlessness. 

All  at  once  a  great  noise  was  heard 
in  the  Plaza  Major. 

The  general  went  to  a  window,  pull 
ed  aside  a  curtain,  and  looked  out. 

A  tumultuous  and  dense  crowd  was 
thronging  every  street  leading  to  the 
square  and  uttering  sharp  cries.  This 
crowd,  momentarily  increasing,  seemed 
urged  on  by  something  terrible,  which 
the  general  could  not  perceive. 

"  What  is  this?"  the  general  exclaim 
ed;  "and' what  can  be  the  meaning  of 
this  disturbance  ?" 

At  this  moment  the  shouts  grew 
louder,  and  the  detachment  of  Coman- 
che  warriors  appeared  debouching  by 
the  Calle  de  la  Alerced,  and  marching  in 
good  order,  and  at  quick  step,  upon  the 
palace.  On  seeing  them  the  general 
could  not  restrain  a  start  of  surprise. 

"The  Indians  again  !"  he  said  ;  "how 
can  they  dare  to  present  themselves 
here  1  They  must  be  ignorant  of  the 
arrival  of  the  dragoons.  Such  boldness 
is  incomprehensible." 

He  let  the  curtain  'fall,  and  turned 
away. 

The  soldier  whom  the  captain  had 
announced  to  him  stood  before  him, 
waiting  the  general's  pleasure  to  ques 
tion  him.  The  general  started  on  per 
ceiving  him.  He  was  pale ;  his  uni 
form  was  torn  and  stained  with  mud,  is, 
if  he  had  made  a  long  journey  on  foot 
through  brambles. 

The  general  wished  to  clear  up  his 
doubts  ;  but,  just  as  he  was  opening  his 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


159 


mouth  to  ask  the  man  a  question,  the 
door  flew  back,  and  several  officers, 
among  "whom  was  Captain  Don  Lopez, 
entered  the  room. 

"  General,"  the  captain  said,  "  make 
haste  !  You  are  expected  in  the  coun 
cil  hall.  The  Indians  have  come  for  the 
answer  you  promised  to  give  them  this 
morning1." 

"  Well  !  why  this  startled  look,  gen 
tlemen?"  the  general  said,  severely. 
"  I  fancy  the  town  has  not  yet  been  set 
on  fire.  I  am  not  at  the  orders  of  those 
savages,  so  tell  them  that  I  have  no  time 
to  grant  them  an  audience." 

The  officers  gazed  at  the  general  with 
a  surprise  they  did  not  attempt  to  con 
ceal,  on  hearing  these  strange  and  in 
comprehensible  words. 

"  Good,  good,"  Captain  Lopez  said, 
roughly,  "  the  town  is  not  yet  fired, 
'tis  true ;  but  it  might  be  so,  ere  long, 
if  you  went  on  in  this  way." 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  the  gen 
eral  asked,  as  he  turned  pale.  "  Are 
matters  so  serious?" 

"  They  are  most  serious.  We  have 
not  a  moment  to  lose,  if  we  wish  to 
avoid  heavy  disasters." 

The  general  started. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  then  said,  in  an  ill- 
assured  voice,  "  it  is  our  duty  to  watch 
over  the  safety  of  the  population.  I 
follow  you." 

And  taking  no  further  heed  of  the 
soldier  he  had  ordered  to  be  sent  in,  he 
proceeded  towards  the  council-hall. 

The  disorder  that  prevailed  without 
had  at  length  gained  the  interior  of  the 
palace.  Nothing  was  to  be  heard  but 
shrieks  or  exclamations  of  anger  and 
terror.  The  Mexican  officers  assembled 
in  the  hall  were  tumultuously  discussing 
the  measures  to  be  adopted  in  order  to 
save  a  contest  and  the  town. 

The  entrance  of  the  governor  produc 
ed  a  healthy  effect  upon  them,  in  so  far 
that  the  discussion,  which  was  degene 
rating  into  personalities  and  reproaches, 
dictated  by  individual  fear,  suddenly 
ceased,  and  calmness  was  restored. 

General  Ventura  regretted  in  his 
heart  having  counted  on  imaginary  help, 
and  not  having  listened  to  the  sensible 
advice  of  some  of  his  officers,  who  urg 
ed  him  the  previous  day  to  satisfy  the 


Indians  by  giving  them  what  they  ask 
ed.  In  spite  of  the  terror  he  felt,  how-, 
ever,  his  pride  revolted  at  being  com 
pelled  to  treat  on  equal  terms  with  bar 
barians,  and  accept  harsh  conditions 
which  they  would  doubtless  impose  on 
him,  in  the  consciousness  of  having  the 
upper  hand. 

The  governor,  in  entering  the  hall, 
looked  around  the  assembly  anxiously. 
All  had  taken  their  places,  and,  exter 
nally  at  least,  had  assumed  that  grace 
and  stern  appearance  belonging  to  men 
who  are  penetrated  with  the  grandeur 
of  the  duties  they  have  to  perform,  and 
are  resolved  to  carry  them  out  at  all 
hazards. 

But  this  appearance  was  very  decep 
tive.  If  the /aces  were  impassive  the 
hearts  were  timorous.  All  these  men, 
habituated  to  a  slothful. and  effeminate 
life,  did  not  feel  capable  of  waging  a 
contest  with  the  rude  enemies  who 
menaced  them  so  audaciously,  even  at 
the  doors  of  the  governor's  palace. 

Under  present  circumstances,  how 
ever,  resistance  was  impossible. 

The  Indians,  by  the  fact  of  their  pre 
sence  on  the  square,  were  masters  of  the 
town.  There  were  no  troops  to  oppose 
to  them ;  hence,  the  only  hope  was  to 
make  the  easiest  terms  possible  with 
the  Comanches.  Still,  as  all  these  men 
wished  to  save  appearances  at  any  rate, 
the  discussion  began  anew. 

When  every  one  had  given  his  opin 
ion,  the  governor  rose,  and  said  in  a 
trembling  voice : 

"  Caballeros,  all  of  us  here  present 
are  men  of  courage,  and  have  displayed 
that  quality  in  many  difficult  circum 
stances.  Certainly,  if  the  only  thing 
was  to  sacrifice  our  lives  to  save  the 
hapless  townsmen,  we  would  -not  hesi 
tate  to  do  so,  for  we  are  too  well  imbued 
with  the  soundness  of  our  duties  to 
hesitate;  but,  unhappily,  that  sacrifice 
would  not  avail  to  save  those  whom  we 
wish  before  all  to  protect.  Let  us  treat, 
then,  with  the  barbarians,  as  we  cannot 
conquer  them.  Perhaps  in  this  way  we 
shall  succeed  in  protecting  our  wives 
and  children  from  the  danger  that  me 
naces  them.  In  acting  thus,  under  the 
grave  circumstances  in  which  we  find 
ourselves,  we  shall  at  least  have  thfe 


160 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER 


consolation  of  having  done  our  duty 
even  if  we  do  not  obtain  all  we  desire.' 
Hearty  applause  greeted  this  har 
angue,  and  the  governor,  turning  to  th 
porter,  who  stood  motionless  at  the 
door,  gave  orders  to  introduce  the  prin 
cipal  Indian  chiefs. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

THE    COMANCIIES. 

VALENTINE  and  his  friends  awoke  at 
daybreak. 

The  Comanches  were  already  pre 
pared  to  start;  and  Unicorn,  dressed  in 
his  great  war  costume,  presented  him 
self  to  the  hunter. 

"  Is  my  brother  going  ?"  Valentine 
asked  him. 

"  Yes,"  the  sachem  answered.  "  I  am 
returning  to  the  Presidio  to  receive  the 
answer  of  the  chief  of  the  palefaces." 

"  What  is  my  brother's  intention, 
should  his  demand  be  rejected  T' 

Unicorn  smiled. 

"  The  Comanches  have  long  lances," 
he  said  ;  "  the  palefaces  will  not  refuse." 

"  My  anxiety  will  be  extreme  till  you 
return,  chief;  the  Spaniards  are  perfid 
ious  ;  take  care  they  have  not  planned 
some  treachery." 

"  They  would  not  dare,"  Unicorn 
said,  haughtily.  "  If  the  chief,  whom 
my  brother  loves,  is  not  delivered  to 
me  safe  and  sound,  the  Spanish  pri 
soners  shall  be  tortured  on  the  Plaza 
of  Santa  Fe,  the  town  burned  and 
sacked.  I  have  spoken ;  my  brother's 
mind  may  be  at  rest." 

"  Good  !  Unicorn  is  a  wise  chief;  he 
will  do  what  is  necessary." 

In  the  meantime  the  Comanche  war 
riors  had  formed  their  ranks,  and  only 
awaited  the  signal  of  the  sachem  to 
start.  The  Spanish  prisoners  taken 
during  the  night  were  placed  in  the 
centre  bound  and  half  naked. 

Suddenly  a  disturbance  was  heard  in 
the  camp,  and  two  men  rushed  panting 
toward  the  spot  where  stood  Valentine, 
the  sachem  and  Curumilla.  They  were 
Don  Pablo  and  Father  Seraphin,  their 
clothes  in  disorder,  their  features  hag 


gard,  and  their  faces  glistening  with 
perspiration.  On  reaching  their  friends, 
they  fell,  almost  in  a  fainting  state,  ou 
the  ground.  The  proper  attentions 
were  at  once  paid  them,  and  the  mission 
ary  was  the  first  to  recover. 

Don    Pablo    seemed    stupified  ;     the 

tears     poured     incessantly    down     his 

cheeks,  and  he  could  not  utter  a  word. 

Valentine  felt  strangely  alarmed. 

*'  Good  heavens  !"  he  exclaimed, "what 

has  happened  1     Don  Miguel ?" 

The  missionary  shook  his  head. 
"  No,"  he  said,  "  nothing  has  happen 
ed  to  him.  as  far  as  I  know." 

"  Heaven  be  praised !  But  what  in 
the  matter,  father  ?  What  misfortune 
have  you  to  announce  to  me  ?" 

"  A  frightful  one,  indeed,  my  son," 
the  missionary  replied,  as  he  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands. 

"  Speak,  in  Heaven's  name  !  Your 
delay  is  killing  me." 

"  Dona  Clara " 

"  Well  !;'  he  hunter  said,  sharply. 
"  Was  captured  again  last  night  by 
Red  Cedar,  and  torn   from    the   refuge 
where  I  placed  her." 

"  Oh  !"  Valentine  exclaimed,  with 
concentrated  fury,  as  he  stamped  his 
foot,  "  always  that  demon — that  accurs 
ed  Red  Cedar.  My  curses  on  him  ! 
But  take  courage,  father:  let  us  first  save 
Don  Miguel,  and  then  I  swear  to  you 
that  I  will  restore  his  daughter  to  him." 
Unicorn  advanced. 

"  Master  of  prayer,"  he  said  to  Father 
Seraphin,  in  a  soft  and  impressive  voice, 
'  your  heart  is  good.  The  Comanches 
ove  you.  Unicorn  will  help  you.  Pray 
to  your  God.  He  will  protect  us  in 
our  researches,  since  He  is,  as  you  say, 
so  powerful." 

Then  the  chief  turned  to  Don  Pablo, 
and  laid  his  hand  firmly  on  his  shoulder. 
"Women  weep,"  he  said;  "men 
avenge  themselves.  Has  not  my  brother 
his  rifle  ?" 

On  feeling  the  Comanche's  hand  laid 
on  him — on  hearing  these  words — the 
young  man  quivered  as  if  he  had  received 
an  electric  shock.  He  drew  himself  up, 
nd  fixed  on  the  chief  his  eyes  burning 
with  the  fever  of  sorrow. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  in  a  broken   voice, 
'you  are  right,  chief,  and,"  passing  hia 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


161 


hand  over  his  eyes,  with  a  gesture  o 
ra^e,  "  let  us  leave  tears  to  women,  whr 

O      '  ' 

have  no  other  weapons  to  protect  their 
weakness.  I  am  a  man,  and  will  avenge 
myself." 

"  Good.  My  brother  speaks  well : 
he  is  a  warrior ;  Unicorn  esteems  him  ; 
he  will  become  great  on  the  war  path.' 
Don  Pablo,  crushed  for  a  moment, 
had  regained  all  his  energy  ;  he  was  no 
longer  the  same  man  ;  he  looked  around 
him. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?"  he  asked. 
"  To  Santa  Fe,  to  deliver  your  father." 
"  I  will  go  with  you." 
"  Come,"  said  Unicorn. 
"  No,"  Valentine  interposed,  authori 
tatively.     "  Your   place    is   not    there, 
Don   Pablo ;  leave  the   Comanche  war 
riors  to  act  as  they  please  ;  they  do  not 
need  your  help  to  carry  out  their  plans 
properly.     Remain  with  me." 

"  Command  rne,  my  friend,"  the 
young  man  said  with  resignation;  "I 
have  perfect  confidence  in  your  ex 
perience." 

"  Good.  You  are  reasonable.  Bro 
ther,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  chief, 
"  you  can  start.  The  sun  is  already 
high  in  the  horizon  ;  may  Heaven  grant 
that  you  may  succeed  !" 

Unicorn  gave  the  signal  for  depar 
ture.  The  Comanches  uttered  their  war 
yell,  while  brandishing  their  arms,  and 
started  at  a  quick  amble,  the  only  pace 
they  know. 

Curumilla  then  rose,  and  wrapped 
himself  in  his  buffalo  robe ;  Valentine 
watching  him,  inquiringly. 

"  Does  my  brother  leave  us  ?"  he 
said. 

"  Yes,"  the  Araucano  answered,  la 
conically. 

"  For  long  ?" 
"  For  a  few  hours?'' 
"  Where  is  my  brother  going?" 
"  To    look    for    the    camp  of    Red 
Cedar's  gambusinos,"  the  Indian  replied 
with  a  cunning  smile. 

"  Good,"  Valentine  said,  gleefully. 
"  My  brother  is  a  wise  chief;  he  forgets 
nothing." 

"  Curumilla  loves  his  brother  ;  he 
thinks  for  him,"  the  chief  answered, 
simply. 

After  uttering  these  words,  the  Uni 


corn  bowed  gracefully,  and  proceeded 
in  the  direction  of  the  Paso  del  Norte, 
soon  disappearing  in  the  windings  of 
the  road. 

Valentine  looked  after  him  for  a  long 
while.  When  he  no  longer  saw  him, 
he  let  his  head  fall  pensively  on  his 
chest,  murmuring  in  a  low  voice — 

"  Good,  intelligent  fellow  !  Heart  >f 
gold  !  The  only  friend  left  me  !  The 
only  one  remaining  of  my  old  and  faith 
ful  comrades  !  Louis,  my  poor  Louis, 
where  are  you  now  ?"  A  deep  sigh 
burst  from  his  bosom,  and  he  remained 
absorbed  in  a  gloomy  reverie. 
•  At  length  Valentine  raised  his  head, 
passed  his  hand  over  his  brow,  as  if  to 
dispel  these  sad  thoughts,  and  turned  to 
his  friends. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  said,  "  but  I,  at 
times,  give  way  to  my  thoughts  in  that 
fashion.  Alas  !  I,  too,  have  suffered  ; 
but  let  us  leave  that,"  he  added,  gaily. 
"  Bygones  must  be  bygones.  Let  us 
attend  to  your  affairs." 

He  made  them  a  sign  to  sit  down  by 
his  side  on  the  grass,  rummaged  his  al- 
forjas  and  produced  some  slight  food, 
which  he  laid  before  them. 

"  Eat,"  he  said  to  them  ;  "  we  do  not 
know  what  awaits  us  within  the  iiext 
few  hours,  and  we  must  recruit  our 
trength.  When  you  have  satisfied 
your  appetite,  you  will  tell  me  all 
about  Dona  Clara  being  carried  off 
Again,  for  I  must  have  the  fullest  de 
tails." 

We  will  leave  the  three  now  con 
versing,  and  join  the  Comanches  and 
Unicorn*  again. 

When  the  Comanches  reached  the 
Plaza  Mayor,  opposite  the  Cabildo,  they 
lalted.  At  an  order  from  Unicorn,  the 
prisoners  were  completely  stripped  of 
iheir  clothing  and  placed  some  distance 
n  front  of  the  first  rank  of  Indians, 
>ach  of  them  having  at.  his  side  a  fully 
irrned  Indian  ready  to  massacre  him 
mercilessly  at  the  slightest  sign  from 
Unicorn.  When  the  preparations  were 
:omph;ted,  and  the  Comanches  had 
stationed  sentinels  at  each  corner  of  the 
streets,  opening  in  the  square,  in  order 
lot  to  be  taken  in  reverse,  and  sur- 
•ounded  by  the  Spaniards,  if  they  felt 
any  inclination  for  fighting,  the  Spider, 


162 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


the  chief  who  had  already  performed  the 
duty  of  flag  of  truce,  pranced  up  to  the 
gate  of  the  palace,  and  demanded 
speech  with  the  governor. 

The  officer  of  the  guard  who  was  no 
other  than  Don  Lopez,  politely  requested 
the  Indian  warrior  to  wait  a  few  mo 
ments,  and  then  proceeded  in  all  haste 
to  General  Ventura.  We  have  seen 
what  took  place,  and,  after  a  delay  of 
nearly  half  an  hour,  Captain  Don  Lopez 
returned. 

It  was  time,  for  the  Comanches  were 
beginning  to  grow  tired  of  waiting1,  and 
were  preparing  to  force  the  passage 
which  was  not  voluntarily  granted  them. 

After  some  preliminary  explanations, 
Captain  Lopez  informed  the  Spider  that 
the  general,  surrounded  by  jiis  staff,  was 
awaiting,  in  the  hall  of  audience,  the 
sachem  of  the  nation  and  his  three  prin 
cipal  warriors. 

The  Spider  communicated  this  answer 
to  Unicorn,  who  gave  a  nod  of  assent, 
dismounted,  and  entered  the  Cabildo. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

NEGOTIATIONS. 

WHEN  Unicorn  entered  the  council- 
chamber,  preceded  by  Captain  Lopez, 
and  followed  by  the  three  Indian  chiefs, 
the  deepest  silence  prevailed  among  the 
Spanish  officers  assembled  to  meet  him. 

The  governor,  seated  in  a  chair  placed 
in  the  centre  of  the  hall,  was  looking 
nervously  round  him,  while  tapping  on 
the  arm  of  the  chair  with  the  fingers  of 
his  right  hand.  Still,  his  countenance 
was  tolerably  composed  ;  nothing  exter 
nally  revealed  the  terror  that  devoured 
him.  He  answered  by  a  nod  the  cere 
monious  bow  of  the  Comanches,  and 
drew  himself  up  as  if  intending  to  ad 
dress  them  ;  but  if  such  were  his  desire, 
Unicorn  did  not  grant  him  time  to  do 
so. 

The  sachem  draped  himself  in  his 
buffalo  robe  with  that  majestic  grace 
possessed  by  all  those  untamed  sons  of 
the  desert,  drew  his  head  up  proudly, 
and  walked  toward  General  Ventura, 
who  watched  him  approach  with  an 


anxious  eye.  On  coming  within  four 
paces  of  the  governor,  Unicorn  stopped, 
crossed  his  arms  on  his  chest,  and  took 
the  word. 

"I  salute  my  father!"  he  said,  in  a 
loud  and  fierce  voice.  "  I  have  come, 
as  was  agreed  on  yesterday,  to  fetch  the 
answer  he  owes  me." 

The  general  hesitated  for  an  instant. 

"  I  am  waiting  !"  the  Indian  went  on, 
with  a  frown  that  augured  ill. 

The  general,  forced  almost  into  his 
last  entrenchments,  saw  that  the  hour 
for  surrender  had  at  length  arrived,  and 
that  no  way  of  escape  was  left  him. 

"Chief,"  he  answered,  in  anything 
but  a  firm  voice,  "your  behavior  natu 
rally  surprises  me.  To  my  knowledge 
the  Spaniards  are  not  at  war  with  your 
nation ;  the  whites  have  not  done  any 
thing  of  which  you  have  a  right  to  com 
plain.  For  what  reason  do  you  come, 
then,  against  the  sworn  faith,  and  when 
nothing  authorizes  you,  to  invade  a  de 
fenceless  town,  and  interfere  in  matters 
that  only  concern  ourselves?" 

The  sachem  understood  that  the 
Spaniard  was  trying  to  shift  the  ques 
tion  on  to  other  ground ;  he  saw  the 
snare  offered  him,  and  was  not  to  be 
caught. 

"  My  father  does  not  answer  my  re 
quest,"  he  said.,  "Still,  in  order  to 
have  finished  at  once  with  the  recrimi 
nations  he  brings  up,  I  will  answer  his 
questions  peremptorily,  separating  them 
one  from  the  other. 

"  In  the  first  place,  my  father  knows 
very  well  that  the  palefaces  and  red 
skins  have  been  in  a  constant  state  of 
warfare  since  the  arrival  of  white  men 
in  America.  This  war  may  have  slight 
ly  relaxed  at  intervals,  but  has  never 
really  ceased.  Our  two  races  are  hos 
tile;  the  struggle  will  not  end  between 
them  until  one  of  the  two  families, 
whether  white  or  red,  has  given  place 
to  the  other  by  its  general  extinction. 
Secondly,  my  father  said  that  nothing 
has  been  done  of  which  we  had  a  right 
to  complain.  My  father  is  mistaken, 
we  have  a  cause,  the  imprisonment  of 
Don  Miguel  Zarate,  who.  himself  an  In 
dian,  has  never  belied  his  origin.  Hence 
my  father  must  no  longer  ask  by  what 
right  I  am  here,  for  that  is  perfectly 


THE   TRAIL-HUNTER. 


established  ;  it  is  that  whioh  every  hon 
est  man  possesses  of  defending  an  inno 
cent  person  who  is  oppressed.  Now 
that  fact  is  cleared  up,  let  us  pass  to 
another.  When  I  came  here  yesterday, 
my  father  gave  me  to  understand  that 
my  propositions  would  be  accepted, 
and  the  exchange  of  prisoners  carried 
>ut." 

"  It  is  possible,  chief,"  the  general 
replied ;  "  but  things  are  so  in  this 
world,  no  one  knows  to-day  what  he 
will  do  to-morrow.  With  night  reflec 
tion  has  come,  and,  in  short,  your  pro 
positions  have  appeared  to  me  unaccept 
able." 

"  Wah!"  the  Indian  said,  though  not 
testifying  his  surprise  otherwise. 

"  Yes,"  the  general  continued,  grow 
ing  animated,  "  I  should  be  ashamed  to 
grant  them,  for  1  should  have  the  ap 
pearance  of  only  yielding  to  threats. 
No,  it  cannot  be.  The  two  gentlemen 
you  claim  are  guilty,  and  shall  die  ;  and 
if  you  venture  to  oppose  the  execution 
of  the  just  sentence  of  the  court,  we 
will  defend  ourselves,  and  God  will 
protect  the  good  cause." 

The  Mexican  officers  warmly  ap 
plauded  this  haughty  response,  which 
they  were  far  from  expecting.  They 
felt  their  courage  rekindled,  and  did  not 
despair  of  obtaining  better  conditions. 

A  smile  of  disdain  played  round  the 
chiefs  haughty  lips. 

"  Good,"  he  said  ;  "  my  father  speaks 
very  loudly.  The  coyotes  are  bold 
when  they  hunt  the  buffalo  in  packs. 
My  father  has  carefully  reflected,  and 
is  determined  to  accept  the  consequen 
ces  of  his  answer.  He  wishes  for  war, 
then  ?" 

"  No,"  the  general  quickly  interpos 
ed,  "  heaven  forbid  !  I  should  be  glad 
to  settle  this  matter  amicably  with  you, 
chief,  but  honor  forbids  me  subscribing 
those  disgraceful  proposals  which  you 
did  not  fear  to  lay  before  me." 

"  Is  it  really  honor  that  has  dictated 
my  father's  answer  ?"  the  Indian  asked, 
ironically.  "  He  will  permit  me  to 
doubt  it.  In  short,  whatever  be  the 
reason  that  guides  him,  1  can  but  with 
draw  ;  but,  before  doing  so,  I  will  give 
him  news  of  a  friend  whom  he  doubt 
less  impatiently  expects.' 


"  What  means  that  word,  doubt 
less  ?" 

"  This,"  the  Indian  said,  sharply. 
"  The  warriors  whom  my  father  ex 
pected  to  arrive  to  his  aid  this  day  have 
been  dispersed  by  my  young1  men,  as 
the  autumn  breeze  sweeps  away  the 
leaves.  They  will  not  come." 

A  murmur  of  surprise,  almost  of 
terror,  ran  through  the  assembly.  The 
sachem  let  the  long  folds  of  his  buffalo 
robe  fall  back,  tore  from  his  girdle  the 
bleeding  scalp  that  hung  there,  and 
threw  it  at  the  general's  feet. 

"That,"  he  said,  gloomily,  "is  the 
scalp  of  the  man  who  commanded  m> 
father's  warriors  !  Does  the  chief  of 
the  pale- faces  recognize  it  ?  This  scalp 
was  raised  by  me  from  the  head  of  th  ; 
man  who  was  to  arrive,  and  who,  at  this 
hour,  has  set  out  for  the  happy  hunting 
grounds  of  his  nation." 

A  shudder  of  terror  ran  round  the 
room  at  the  sight  of  the  sculp;  the 
general  felt  the  small  dose  of  courage 
that  had  still  animated  him  oozing  out. 

"Chief,"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  trembling 
voice  "  is  it  possible  you  have  done 
that  ?" 

"I  have  done  it,"  the  sachem  answer 
ed,  coldly.  "  Now,  farewell.  1  am 
about  to  join  my  young  men,  who  are 
impatient  at  my  long  absence." 

With  these  words  the  Comanche 
haughtily  turned  his  back  on  the  gover 
nor,  and  walked  toward  the  door. 

"  A  few  moments  longer,  chief,"  the 
general  said ;  "  perhaps  we  are  nearer 
an  uuderstanding  than  you  suppose." 

The  Comanche  gave  the  speaker  a 
glance  which  made  him  quiver. 

"  Here  is  my  last  word,"  he  said. 
"  I  insist  on  the  two  prisoners  being 
handed  over  to  me." 

"  They  shall  be." 

"  Good  ;  but  no  perfidity,  no  treach 
ery  !" 

"  We  will  act  honorably,"  the  gen 
eral  replied,  not  dreaming,  of  resenting 
the  insult  conveyed  in  the  Indian's 
words. 

"  We  shall  see.  My  warriors  and 
myself  will  remain  on  the  square  till 
my  father  has  performed  his  promise. 
If,  within  an  hour,  the  pale-faces  are 
not  free,  the  prisoners  I  hold  will  be 


104 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


pitilessly   massacred,   and    the   altepetl 
plundered.     J  have  spoken." 

A  gloomy  silence  greeted  these  ter 
rible  threats.  The  pride  of  the  Mexi 
cans  was  quelled,  and  they  at  length  re 
cognized  that  nothing  could  save  them 
from  the  vengeance  of  the  Comanche 
chief. 

The  general  bowed  in  assent,  not  hav 
ing  strength  to  answer  otherwise.  The 
sight  of  the  scalp  had  paralyzed  in  him 
all  desire  to  contend  longer. 

Unicoctt  left  the  hall,  mounted  his 
horse  again,  and  calmly  awaited  the  ful 
filment  of  the  promise  made  to  him. 

When  the  Indians  had  left  the  coun 
cil-chamber,  the  Mexicans  rose  tumult- 
uously,  for  each  feared  the  execution  of 
the  chief's  threats. 

General  Ventura  was  pressed  on  all 
sides  to  make  haste,  and  run  no  risk  of 
breaking  his  word.  When  the.  governor 
saw  that  his  officers  were  as  terrified  as 
himself,  he  re-assumed  his  coolness,  and 
cleverly  profited  by  this  state  of  mind, 
in  order  to  throw  the  responsibility  off 
himself,  and  appear  only  to  act  under 
the  impulse  of  others. 

"  Caballeros,"  he  said,  "  you  have 
heard  this  man.  You  understood  as 
well  as  1  did  the  menaces  he  dared  to 
offer  us.  Shall  such  an  insult  be  left 
unpunished?  Will  you  allow  your 
selves  to  be  thus  braved  in  the  heart  of 
the  town  by  a  handful  of  scoundrels, 
and  not  attempt  to  inflict  on  them  the 
chastisement  they  deserve  ?  To  arms, 
Caballeros,  and  let  us  die  bravely,  if  it 
must  be  so,  sooner  than  suffer  this  stain 
on  the  old  Spanish  honor  our  fathers 
transmitted  to  us  !" 

This  warm  address  produced  the  ef 
feet  the  general  anticipated  from  it ; 
that  is  to  say,  it  redoubled,  were  that 
possible,  the  terror  of  the  hearers,  who 
had  long  been  acquainted  with  their 
chiefs  cowardice,  and  knew  how  liltle 
he  could  be  depended  on. 

This  sudden  warlike  order  seemed  to 
them  so  unusual,  and  before  all  so  in 
opportune,  that  they  pressed  him  to 
atceept  without  delay  the  proposals  dic 
tated  by  the  sachem. 

This  "was  all  the  governor  wanted. 

He  had  the  minutes  of  the  council  at 


once  drawn  up,  when  it  was  signed  by 
all  present,  he  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

"  As  you  insist,"  he  said,  "  and  no 
thing  can  induce  you  to  offer  an  honor 
able  resistance,  I  will  myself  proceed  to 
the  prison,  in  order  to  avoid  any  mis 
understanding,  and  have  the  doors  open 
ed  for  Don  Miguel  Zarate  and  General 
Ibanez." 

"  Make  haste,  pray  ?"  the  officers 
answered. 

The  general,  glad  in  his  heart  at  hav 
ing  got  out  of  the  scrape  so  well,  left 
the  Cabildo,  and  walked  across  the 
square  to  the  prison,  which  stood  on  the 
opposite  side. 

The  Comanches  were  motionless  as 
statues  of  Florentine  bronze,  leaning  on 
their  weapons,  with  their  eyes  fixed  on 
the  chief,  ready  to  carry  out  his  orders. 


CHAPTER   XLVIII. 

FREE. 

DON  MIGUEL  and  General  Ibanez 
were  completely  ignorant  of  what  was 
going  on  outside,  and  the  rumors  of 
the  town  did  not  reach  their  ears.  Had 
they  deigned  to  question  their  jailer,  the 
latter,  who  was  beginning  to  fear  for 
himself  the  effects  of  the  ill-treatment 
he  had  made  the  two  gentlemen  undergo, 
would  doubtless  not  have  hesitated  to 
give  them  all  possible  information,  for 
the  sake  of  regaining  their  favor;  but 
each  time  this  man  presented  himself 
before  them,  and  opened  his  mouth  to 
speak,  they  turned  their  backs  con 
temptuously,  giving  him  a  sign  to  with 
draw  at  once,  and  be  silent. 

On  this  day,  according  to  their  wont, 
the  two  prisoners  had  risen  at  sunrise, 
and  then,  with  incredible  coolness,  be 
gan  conversing  on  indifferent  topics. 

Suddenly  a  great  noise  was  heard  in 
the  prison ;  a  clang  of  arms  reached 
the  prisoners'  ears,  and  hurried  foot 
steps  approached  the  rooms  in  which 
they  were  confined. 

They  listened. 

"  Oh,  oh  !"  said  Ibanez,  "  I  fancy  it 
is  for  to-day  at  last." 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


165 


"  Heaven  be  praised  !"  Don  Miguel 
answered  ;  "  I  am  glad  they  have  made 
up  their  minds  to  bring  matters  to  a 
conclusion." 

"  On  my  honor,  and  so  am  I,"  the 
general  said,  gaily  ;  "  time  was  begin 
ning  to  hang  heavy  in  this  prison,  where 
a  man  has  not  the  slightest  relaxation. 
We  are  going  to  see  again  that  splendid 
sun  which  seems  afraid  of  showing  itself 
in  this  den.  Viva  Gristo!  I  feel  de 
lighted  at  the  mere  thought,  and  gladly 
pardon  my  judges." 

Still  the  noise  drew  nearer  and  nearer, 
and  confused  voices  were  mingled  with 
the  echoing  steps  in  the  passage,  and 
the  rattling  of  sabres. 

"  Here  they  are,"  said  Don  Miguel ; 
"  we  shall  see  them  in  a  minute." 

"  They  are  welcome  if  they  bring  us 
death,  that  supreme  solace  of  the  afflict 
ed." 

At  this  moment  a  key  creaked  in  the 
lock,  and  the  door  opened.  The  two 
prisoners  fell  back  in  surprise  on  seeing 
the  general,  who  rushed  into  the  cell- 
followed  by  two  or  three  officers.  As 
suredly,  if  the  prisoners  expected  to 
see  anybody,  it  was  not  the  worthy 
General  Ventura. 

Ibanez'  surprise  was  so  great  at  this 
unexpected  apparition,  that  he  could 
not  refrain  from  exclaiming,  with  that 
accent  of  caustic  gaiety  which  formed 
the  basis  of  his  character : 

"  What  the  deuce  do  you  want  here, 
Senor  Governor  ?  Have  you,  too,  sud 
denly  become  a  frightful  conspirator, 
such  as  we  are  accused  of  being  ?" 

Before  answering,  the  general  fell 
back  into  a  chair,  wiping  away  the  per 
spiration  that  trickled  down  his  fore 
head,  such  speed  had  he  displayed  in 
coining  to  the  prison.  Three  or  four 
officers  stood  motionless  on  the  thres 
hold  of  the  widely -open  door. 

Th*  condemned  men  could  not  at  all 
understand  the  affair. 

"  Have  you  by  any  chance,  my  dear* 
governor,"  General  Ibanez  said,  gaily, 
though  not,  believing  a  word  of  it, 
"  come  to  restore  us  to  liberty  1  That 
•would  be  a  most  gallant  action,  and  I 
should  feel  deeply  indebted  to  you  for 
it." 

General  Ventura  raised  his  head,  fixed 


on  the  prisoners  eyes  sparkling  with  joy, 
and  said,  in  a  panting  voice  : 

"  Yes,  my  friends,  yes ;  I  would 
come  myself  to  tell  you  that  you  are 
free  ;  I  would  not  yield  to  any  one  else 
the  pleasure  of  announcing  the  good 
news." 

The  prisoners  fell  back  in  amaze 
ment. 

"What!"  General  Ibanez  exclaimed, 
"  you  are  speaking  seriously  ?" 

Don  Miguel  attentively  looked  at  the 
governor,  trying  to  read  in  his  face  the 
reasons  of  his  conduct. 

"  Come,  come,"  General  Ventura 
cried,  "  this  hole  is  frightful ;  do  not  re 
main  any  longer  in- it." 

"  Ah  !"  Don  Miguel  remarked,  bit 
terly,  "  you  find  it  frightful  ;  you  have 
been  a  long  time  in  discovering  the  fact; 
for  we  have  lived  in  it  nearly  a  month, 
and  the  thought  never  once  occurred  to 
you  of  disturbing  our  repose." 

"  Do  not  be  angry  with  me,  Don 
Miguel,"  the  governor  answered  eager 
ly,  "it  was  greatly  against  my  will  you 
were  detained  so  long;  had  it  only  de 
pended  on  me  you  would  have  been 
free ;  but,  thanks  to  Heaven,  all  is 
settled  now,  arid  I  have  succeeded  in 
having  justice  done  you.  Come  away  ; 
do  not  remain  a  moment  longer  in  this 
pestilential  den." 

"  Pardon  me,  Caballero,"  Don  Mi 
guel  said  coldly,  "  but,  with  your  per 
mission,  we  will  remain  a  few  moments 
longer  in  it." 

"  Why  so1?"  General  Ventura  asked, 
opening  his  eyes  to  their  fullest  extent. 

"  I  will  tell  you." 

Don  Miguel  pointed  to  a  chair,  and 
sat  down  himself.  Ibanez  following  his 
example. 

There  was  a  moment  of  deep  silence 
between  these  three  men  as  they  strove 
to  read  each  other's  real  secret 
thoughts. 

"  1  am  waiting  your  pleasure  to  ex 
plain  yourself,"  the  '.governor  at  last 
said,  as  he  was  anxious  to  get  away,  and 
time  pressed. 

"  I  am  about  doing  so,"  Don  Miguel 
answered  ;  "  you  have  come  to  tell  us 
we  are  free,  sir;  but  you  do  not  say  on 
what  conditions." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  conditions?" 


166 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


the  general  asked,  not  understanding 
him. 

"  Of  course,"  Ibanez  went  on,  sup 
porting  his  friend ;  "  and  these  condi 
tions,  too,  must  suit  us ;  you  must  see, 
my  dear  sir,  we  cannot  leave  this  de 
lightful  place  without  knowing  the  why 
or  wherefore.  Viva  Oristo !  we  are 
not  vagabonds  to  be  got  rid  of  in  that 
way  ;  we  must  know  if  we  are  justified 
in  accepting  the  proposals  you  have 
just  made." 

"  The  general  is  right,  sir,"  the  haci- 
endero  said  in  his  turn  ;  "  the  care  of 
our  honor  does  not  permit  us  to  accept 
a  liberation  which  might  stain  it ;  hence, 
we  shall  not  leave  this  prison  until  you 
have  given  us  an  explanation." 

The  governor  hardly  knew  whether 
he  was  on  his  head  or  his  heels ;  he  had 
never  before  had  to  deal  with  such  ob 
stinate  prisoners.  He  racked  his  brains 
in  vain  to  discover  why  it  was  t:iat  men 
condemned  to  death  could  so  peremp 
torily  decline  their  liberty. 

His  ideas  were  too  narrow,  his  heart 
was  too  cowardly  for  him  to  compre 
hend  the  grandeur  and  nobility  in  this 
determination  on  the  part  of  two  men, 
who  preferred  an  honorable  death  to  a 
branded  life  which  they  only  owed  to 
the  pity  of  their  judges.  Still,  he  must 
induce  them  to  quit  the  prison,  for  time 
was  fast  slipping  away,  and  their  obsti 
nacy  might  ruin  everything. 

Hence,  General  Ventura  made  up  his 
mind  like  a  man. 

"'Gentlemen,'1  he  said,  with  feigned 
admiration,"!  understand  what  noble 
ness  there  is  in  your  scruples,  and  am 
happy  to  see  that  I  was  not  mistaken  in 
the  greatness  of  your  character.  You 
can  leave  this  prison  in  full  security, 
and  take  once  more  the  station  that  be 
longs  to  you  in  the  world.  I  will  l;iy 
!io  conditions  on  you ;  you  are  free, 
purely  and 'simply.  Here  are  the  docu 
ments  connected  with  your  trial,  the 
proofs  produced  against  you  ;  take  them 
and  destroy  them,  and  accept  my  sin 
cere,  apologies  for  all  that  has  passed." 

While  saying  this,  the  governor  drew 
from  his  breast  an  enormous  bundle  of 
papers,  which  he  offered  Don  Miguel. 
The  latter  declined  them  with  an  air  of 
disgust ;  but  General  Ibanez,  less  scru 


pulous  or  wiser  in  his  generation,  eager 
ly  clutched  them,  looked  through  them 
to  see  that  the  governor  was  not  deceiv 
ing  him,  and  then  threw  them  into  the 
brasero,  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
room.  In  less  than  four  minutes,  all 
this  undigested  mass  was  consumed. 

General  Ibanez  watched  them  burn 
ing  with  a  certain  degree  of  pleasure, 
for  he  began  to  feel  himself  really  free. 

"  I  am  waiting  for  you,  gentlemen," 
said  the  governor. 

"One  word  more,  by  your  leave," 
the  haciendero  remarked. 

"  Speak,  sir." 

"  On  leaving  this  prison,  where  are 
we  to  go  ?" 

"  Wherever  you  please,  gentlemen. 
I  repeat  to  you  that  you  are  perfectly 
free,  and  can  act  as  you  think  proper. 
1  do  not  even  ask  your  word  of  honor 
to  enter  into  no  further  conspiracy." 

"  Good  sir,"  Don  Miguel  said,  hold 
ing  out  his  hand  to  General  Ventura, 
"your  conduct  affects  me — thanks." 

The  governor  blushed. 

"  Come,  come,''  he  said,  to  hide  his 
embarassment  on  receiving  this  so  ill- 
deserved  praise. 

The  prisoners  no  longer  hesitated  to 
follow  him. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  news  of  Don 
Miguel's  deliverance  had  spread  through 
the  town  with  the  rapidity  of  a  train  of 
gunpowder.  The  inhabitants,  reassured 
by  the  continence  of  the  Comanches,  and 
knowing  that  they  had  only  come  to 
save  a  man,  in  whose  fate  the  entire 
population  felt  interested,  had  ventured 
to  leave  their  houses,  and  at  length 
thronged  the  streets  and  squares;  the 
windows  and  roofs  were  filled  with  men, 
women,  and  children,  whose  eyes,  fixed 
on  the  prison,  awaited  the  moment  of 
Don  Miguel's  appearance.  When  he 
did  so,  tremendous  shouts  greeted  him. 

Unicom  walked  up  to  the  governor. 

"  My  father  has  kept  his  promise," 
,he  said,  gravely,  "  1  will  keep  mine; 
the  white  prisoners  are  free  ;  1  now  de 
part." 

The  governor  listened  to  these  words 
with  a  blush ;  the  sachem  returned  to 
the  head  of  his  war-party,  which  rapid 
ly  retired,  followed  by  the  shouts  of  a 
mob  intoxicated  with  joy. 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


167 


Don  Miguel,  perplexed  by  the  scene 
which  had  taken  place  in  his  presence, 
and  who  began  to  suspect  a  mystery  in 
the  governor's  conduct,  turned  to  him 
to  ask  an  explanation  of  the  Indian 
chiefs  words — an  explanation  the  gov 
ernor  luckily  escaped,  owing  to  the 
eagerness  of  the  people  who  flocked  up 
to  congratulate  the  prisoners  on  their 
release. 

On  reaching  the  gate  of  the  Cabildo, 
General  Ventura  bowed  courteously  to 
the  two  gentlemen,  and  hurried  into 
his  palace,  happy  at  having  escaped  so 
cheaply,  and  not  tearing  with  his  own 
hands  the  cloak  of  generosity  which  he 
had  paraded  in  the  sight  of  his  prison 
ers. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  all  that  ?" 
the  haciendero  asked  his  friend. 

"  Hum  !"  General  Ibanez  muttered, 
"the  governor's  conduct  seems  to  me 

D 

rather  queer  ;  but,  no  matter,  we  are 
free.  1  confess  to  you,  my  friend,  that 
I  should  have.no  objection  to  go  a  little 
distance  from  this  place,  the  air  of 
which,  despite  General  Ventura's  pro 
testations,  appears  to  me  remarkably 
unhealthy  for  us." 

At  this  moment,  and  ere  Don  Miguel 
could  answer,  the  general  felt  a  slight 
touch  on  his  shoulders ;  he  turned  and 
saw  Curumilla  before  him,  with  a  smil 
ing  face. 

Don  Miguel  and  the  general  sup 
pressed  a  cry  of  joy  at  the  sight  of  the 
grave  and  excellent  Indian. 

"  Come!"  he  said  to  them, laconically. 

They  followed  him,  with  some  diffi 
culty,  through  the  crowd  that  accompa 
nied  them  with  shouts,  and  whom  they 
were  obliged  to  stop  and  thank.  On 
reaching  a  small  street  near  the  square, 
and  which  was- nearly  deserted,  Curum 
illa  led  them  to  a  house  before  which  he 
stopped. 

"It  is  here,"  he  said,  as  he  tapped 
twice. 

The  door  opened,  and  they  entered  a 
courtyard,  in  which  were  three  ready 
saddled  horses,  held  by  a  groom,  which 
they  at  once  mounted. 

"  Thanks,  brother,"  the  haciendero 
said,  warmly,  as  he  pressed  the  chiefs 
hand  ;  "  but  how  did  you  learn  our  de 
liverance  ?" 


The  Araucano  smiled  pleasantly. 

"  Let  us  go,"  he  said,  making  no 
other  answer. 

"  Where  to  ?"  Don  Miguel  asked. 

"To  join  Koutonepi." 

The  three  men  started  at  full  speed. 
Ten  minutes  later  they  were  out  of  the 
town,  and  galloping  across  the  plain. 

"  Oh  !"  General  Ibanez  said,  gaily, 
"  how  pleasant  the  fresh  air  is  !  How 
good  it  is  to  inhale  it  after  remainim; 
for  two  months  stifled  between  tlia 
walls  of  a  prison  !" 

"  Shall  we  soon  arrive  ]''  Don  Miguel 
asked. 

"  In  an  hour,"  the  chief  answered. 

And  they  went  on  with  renewed 
speed. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

*  THE    MEETING. 

ON  reaching  a  spot  where  the  trail 
they  were  following  formed  a  species  of 
fork,  Curumilla  stopped,  and  the  two 
gentlemen  imitated  him. 

"  That  is  your  road,"  the  Araucano 
chief  said.  "  At  the  end  of  that  path 
you  will  see  Koutonepi's  bivouac  fire. 
I  must  leave  you  here." 

After  uttering  these  words,  Curumilla 
turned  his  horse  and  started,  after  giv 
ing  them  a  parting  wave  of  the  hand. 

The  ulmen  was  not  much  of  a  talker 
naturally  ;  generally,  he  did  more  than 
he  said,  llis  friends,  convinced  that 
urgent  necessity  could  alone  have 
forced  him  thus  to  break  through  his 
habits,  made  no  observation,  but  let 
him  go.  When  they  were  alone,  they 
gently  relaxed  the  pace  of  their  horses, 
and  proceeded  at  a  canter. 

General  Ibanez  was  radiant.  He  in 
haled  the  fresh  air  of  the  desert,  which 
dilated  his  wide  chest,  revelling  in  his 
liberty.  He  thought  of  nothing  but 
enjoying  the  present,  regardless  of  the 
past,  which,  with  his  careless  character, 
he  had  already  forgotten,  only  to 
dream  of  the  future,  which  he  gazed  on 
through  a  prism  of  brilliant  hues. 

Don  Miguel,  on  the  contrary,  felt, 
during  the  last  few  moments,  a  sad 


168 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER 


melancholy  invade  his  mind.  Not  able 
to  account  for  the  emotion  he  expe 
rienced,  he  had  a  species  of  secret  pre 
sentiment  that  a  misfortune  was  sus 
pended  over  his  head.  In  vain  did  lie 
try  to  dispel  these  ideas,  but  they 
constantly  returned  more  obstinately 
than  ever  and  it  was  with  a  sort  of 
dread  that  he  advanced  in  the  direc 
tion  where  he  was  to  meet  Valentine, 
although  he  was  his  best  friend,  so 
much  did  he  fear  that  he  would  greet 
his  arrival  with  evil  tidings. 

The  two  gentlemen  went  on  thus 
for  nearly  half  an  hour  without  ex 
changing  a  syllable;  but,  just  as  they 
turned  a  corner  in  the  path,  they  saw 
a  horseman  about  thirty  paces  in  front 
of  them,  barring  the  road,  and  appa 
rently  waiting  for  them.  The  Mexi-- 
cans  examined  him  attentively. 

He  was  a  tall  man,  well  armed, 
and  wearing  the  garb  of  the  rich  ha- 
cienderos ;  but,  singularly  enough,  a 
black  velvet  mask  prevented  them  dis 
tinguishing  his  features. 

By  an  instinctive  movement  Don 
Miguel  and  his  friend  moved  a  hand 
to  their  holsters,  but  they  were  empty. 

"What  is  to  be  done?"  the  hacien- 
dero  asked  the  general. 

"  Go  on,  of  course.  We  have  just 
escaped  too  great  a  peril  for  us  to 
fear  this.  Even  in  the  event  of  the 
mysterious  being  planted  there  before 
us,  like  an  equestrian  statue,  trying  to 
play  us  a  trick,  which  is  not  impos 
sible/' 

a  Let  us  trust  to  Heaven,"  Don  Mi 
guel  muttered,  and  pushed  on. 

The  distance  separating  them  from 
the  stranger  was  soon  cleared.  On 
coming  within  five  yards  of  him,  they 
stopped. 

"  Santas  tardes,  Caballeros,"  said  the 
stranger,  in  a  friendly  voice. 

"  Santas  tandes  /"  the  gentlemen  an 
swered,  in  accord. 

"  I  salute  you,  Don  Miguel  Zarate, 
and  you,  General  Ibanez,"  the  stranger 
then  said.  "  1  am  happy  to  see  you 
at  length  safe  and  sound  out  of  the 
claws  of  that  worthy  General  Ventura, 
who,  if  he  could,  would  certainly  have 
played  you  a  trick." 


"  Caballero,"  Don  Miguel  made 
answer,  "  I  thank  you  for  the  kind 
words  you  address  to  me,  and  which 
can  only  come  from  a  friend's  lips.  I 
should  be  pleased  if  you  would  take  off 
the  mask  that  conceals  your  features, 
so  that  1  may  recognize  you." 

"  Gentlemen,  if  1  removed  my  mask 
you  would  be  disappointed,  for  my 
features  are  unfamiliar  to  you.  Do  not 
be  angry  with  me  for  keeping  it  on ; 
but,  be  assured  that  you  are  not  mis 
taken  with  regard  to  me,  and  I  am 
really  your  friend." 

The  two  Mexicans  bowed  courteously 
to  each  other,  and  the  stranger  went  on. 

"  I  knew  that  so  soon  as  you  were 
free  you  would  hasten  to  join  that 
worthy  hunter  Valentine,  whom  the 
trappers  and  gambusinos  along  the 
frontier  have  christened  the  '  Trail- 
hunter.'  I  placed  myself  here,  where 
y«u  must  infallibly  pass,  in  order  to 
make  you  a  communication  of  the  ut 
most  importance,  which  .interests  you 
extremely." 

"  I  am  listening,  sir,"  Don  Miguel 
responded  with  secret  alarm  ;  *  and  I 
beg  you  to  accept,  beforehand,  my  sin 
cere  thanks  for  the  step  you  have  taken 
on  my  behalf." 

"  You  will  thank  me  when  the  proper 
time  comes,  Don  Miguel.  To-day  I 
only  warn  you  :  at  a  later  date  I  hope 
to  aid  you,  and  my  help  will  not  prove 
useless." 

"  Speak,  sir  !  You  excite  my  curios 
ity  to  the  highest  pitch, and  I  am  anxious 
to  learn  the  news  of  which  you  have 
condescended  to  be  the  bearer." 

The  stranger  shook  his  head  sadly, 
and  there  was  a  moment's  silence. 
This  meeting  of  three  horsemen,  one  of 
whom  was  masked,  in.  this  deserted 
place,  where  no  sound  troubled  the  im 
posing  silence  of  solitude,  had  something 
strange  about  it. 

At  length  the  mask  spoke  again. 

"  Two  months  have  elapsed,  Don 
Miguel,  since,  through  the  treachery  of 
Red  Cedar,  you  were  arrested  and  made 
prisoner  at  the  Paso  del  Norte.  Many 
events  of  which  you  are  ignorant  have 
occurred  since  then ;  but  there  is  one  I 
must  inform  you  of  at  once.  On  the 


THE    TRAIL-HUXTER. 


169 


very  night  of  your  arrest,  at  the 'moment 
you  laid  down  your  arms,  your  daughter 
was  carried  off  by  Red  Cedar." 

"  My  daughter  !"  the  haciendero  ex 
claimed  ;  "and  Valentine  to  whom  1 
confided  her,  and  who  was  responsible 
for  lier  safety  ?" 

"  Valentine  attempted  impossibilities 
to  save  her ;  but  what  can  one  man 
effect  against  twenty  ?" 

Don  Miguel  shook  his  head  mourn 
fully. 

"  After  researches,  long,  sterile,  and 
extraordinary  efforts,  a  man  providen 
tially  aided  by  Father  Seraphin, at  length 
succeeded  last  night  in  taking  Dona 
Clara  from  her  ravishers ;  but  Red 
Cedar,  advised  by  some  extraordinary 
chance,  entered  the  house  where  the 
maiden  had  sought  shelter,  and  carried 
her  off  again." 

"  Oh !  I  will  avenge  myself  on  that 
man  !"  the  haciendero  shouted,  passion 
ately. 

The  stranger's  eyes  flashed  with  a 
lurid  light  though  the  holes  in  his  mask. 

"  You  will  find  your  son  and  Father 
Seraphin  with  Valentine.  Red  Cedar 
intends  to  start  this  evening  at  the  head 
of  a  band  of  gambusinos,  to  go  into  the 
deserts  of  the  Rio  Gila  in  search  of  a 
placer,  which  his  accomplice,  Fray 
Ambrosio,  had  indicated  to  him." 

"  Fray  Ambrosio  !"  the  haciendero 
repeated,  in  stupor. 

"  Yes.  Your  former  chaplain,  who 
served  as  spy  to  the 'squatter,  revealed 
your  plans  to  him,  and  provided  him 
the  means  to  enter  the  hacienda  and 
carry  off  your  daughter." 

"  Good,"  Don  Miguel  said,  in  a  hol 
low  voice.  "  I  will  remember." 

"  Red  Cedar,  I  know  not  with  what 
design,  is  taking  your  daughter  with 
him  into  the  desert." 

"I  will  follow  him,  were  it  for  a 
thousand  leagues,"  Don  Miguel  said, 
resolutely.  "  Thanks  to  you  for  having 
instructed  me  so  fully.  But  whence 
conies  the  interest  you  take  in  me  so 
gratuitously,  since,  as  you  say,  I  do  not 
know  you  ?" 

"  You  shall  learn  at  a  later  date,  Don 
Miguel.  Now,  before  I  leave  you,  one 
last  word — an  earnest  warning." 

"  I  listen  attentively,  Cabailero." 


"  Do  not  tell  any  one — not  even  the 
French  hunter,  not  even  your  son — of 
our  meeting.  Let  this  secret  be  buried 
in  your  breast.  When  you  reach  the 
far  west,  if  you  see  before  you,  at  one 
of  your  bivouacs,  a  piece  of  mahogany 
bearing  the  impress  of  a  horse's  shoe, 
rise  at  midnight,  and  leave  the  camp, 
not  letting  any  one  see  you.  When 
you  have  gone  one  hundred  paces  in 
the  tall  grass,  whistle  thrice  ;  a  similar 
whistle  will  answer  you,  and  then  you 
will  learn  many  things  important  for 
you  to  know,  but  which  1  caunot  tell 
you  to-day." 

"Good.  Thanks.  I  will  do  what 
you  tell  me." 

"  You  promised  it  ?" 

"  I  swear  it  on  my  word  as  a  gentle 
man,"  Don  Miguel  said,  as  he  took  off 
his  hat. 

"  I  accept  your  oath.     Farewell." 

"  Farewell." 

The  stranger  dug  his  spurs  into  his 
horse's  sides  and  the  animal  started  off 
as  if  impelled  by  a  tornado. 

The  two- gentlemen  looked  after  him 
for  a  long  time,  admiring  the  grace  and 
ease  of  his  movements;  at  length,  when 
horse  and  rider  had  disappeared  in  the 
distance,  Don  Miguel  went  on  again 
pensively,  while  saying  to  the  general — 

"  Who  can  that  man  be  ?" 

"  I  know  no  more  than  you  do.  Viva 
Gristo!"  his  friend  answered,  "but  I 
assure  you  I  will  know,  even  if  to  do  so 
I  have  to  search  all  the  thickets  and 
caverns  in  the  desert." 

"  What,"  Don  Miguel  exclaimed,  "  do 
you  intend  to  come  with  me  ?" 

"  Did  you  ever  doubt  it,  Don  Mi 
guel  ?  if  so,  you  insulted  me.  You  will 
need  all  your  friends  to  go  in  search  of 
your  daughter,  and  inflict  on  that  demon 
of  a  gringo  squatter  the  chastisement  he 
deserves.  No,  no  ;  I  will  not  leave  you 
under  such  circumstances, '  for  that 
would  be  committing  a  bad  action  ;  be 
sides,  I  shall  not  be  sorry,"  he  added 
with  a  smile,  "  to  get  out  of  the  sight 
of  the  government  for  a  time." 

"  My  friend,  I  thank  you,"  the  haci 
endero  said,  as  he  took  his  hand.  "1 
have  long  known  that  you  were  entirely 
devoted  to  me  ;  I  am  pleased  to  receive 
this  new  proof  of  your  friendship." 


170 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


"  And  you  accept  it  ?"  the  general 
asked  gaily. 

"  Most  heartily  ;  the  help  of  an  iron 
arm  like  yours  must  be  most  useful  to 
me  under  the  painful  circumstances  in 
which  I  am  placed." 

"  That  is  settled,  then  ;  we  will  start 
together,  Mil  rayas  !  and  I  swear  we  will 
deliver  Dona  Clara." 

"  May  Heaven  grant  it,"  the  hacien- 
dero  said,  sadly. 

»  The  conversation  then  dropped,  and 
the  two  friends  proceeded  in  silence.  A 
quarter  of  an  hour  later  they  reached 
the  Trail-hunter's  bivouac. 


CHAPTER  L. 

DONA   CLARA. 

VALENTINE  had  been  warned,  nearly 
an  hour  previously,  by  Unicorn  of  the 
result  of  the  negotiations  with  the  go 
vernor  of  Santa  Fe,  and  the  immediate 
liberation  of  the  prisoners-;  he  was, 
therefore,  expecting  them.  Though 
they  were  ignorant  where  to  find  him, 
Valentine  presumed  that  the  chief  would 
leave  some  Indian  to  direct  them,  and, 
therefore,  did  not  feel  at  all  surprised 
at  seeing  them. 

So  soon  as  he  noticed  their  approach 
he  walked  to  meet  them,  followed  by 
Don  Pablo  and  the  missionary,  while 
the  haciendero  and  his  comrade  on  their 
side  pricked  on  to  join  them  sooner. 

A  few  hours  were  spent,  after  the 
first  greetings  were  over,  in  a  confe 
rence,  of  which  the  poor  child  so  auda 
ciously  carried  off  was  the  sole  subject. 

Valentine  drew  up  with  his  friends 
the  plan  of  the  campaign  against  Red 
Cedar,  which  was  so  daring  that  it 
, would  have  made  a  European  nervous; 
but  the  fYee  adventurers  who  were 
about  to  carry  it  out  in  no  way  feared 
the  mysterious  dangers  of  the  desert 
which  they  were  going  to  confront. 
We  say,  free,  because  Father  Seraphin 
had  taken  leave  of  his  friends  and  found 
Unicorn,  with  whom  he  wished  to  go  to 
the  Comanche  villages,  in  the  hope  of 
spreading  the  light  of  the  Gospel  there. 
Still,  he  did  not  despair  about  meeting 


his  friends  in  the  prairies,  whither  he 
was  himself  proceeding. 

Toward  evening,  Curumilla  arrived. 
The  Araucano  was  covered  with  dust, 
and  his  face  damp  with  perspiration. 
Not  uttering  a  word,  he  sat  down  by 
the  fire,  took  his  calumet  from  his 
girdle,  and  began  smoking. 

Valentine  let  him  do  so  without  ask 
ing  a  question,  but  so  soon  as  he  saw 
him  absorbed  in  his  pipe,  he  laid  his 
hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Well  r  he  said  to  Mm. 

"  Curumilla  has  seen  them." 

"  Good  ;  are  they  numerous  ]" 

"  Ten  times  the  number  of  fingers  on 
my  two  hands,  and  one  more." 

"  Caramba !"  Valentine  exclaimed, 
"  are  they  so  many  as  that  ?  We  shall 
have  a  tough  job  in  that  case." 

"They  are  bold  hunters,"  the  chief 
added. 

"  Hum !  do  you  know  when  they  will 
start  r 

"  This  evening,  when  the  new  moon 
rises." 

"  Ah,  ah  !  I  read  their  plan,"  the  hun 
ter  said.  "They  intend  crossing  the 
ford  of  the  Toro  before  day." 

Curumilla  bowed  his  head  in  affirma 
tion. 

"  That  is  true,"  Valentine  remarked  ; 
"once  the  ford  is  passed  they  will  be  in 
the  desert,  and  have  comparatively  no 
thing  to  fear,  or  at  least  they  suppose 
so.  I  must  confess,"  he  added,  address 
ing  his  friends,  "  that  Red  Cedar  is  a 
remarkably  clever  scoundrel ;  nothing 
escapes  him,  but  this  time  he  has  a 
tough  adversary.  I  have  my  revenge 
to  take  on  him,  and,  with  the  help  of 
Heaven-,  it  shall  be  exemplary'." 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?"  Don  Miguel 
asked. 

"  Sleep,"  Valentine  answered,  "  we 
have  still  several  hours  before  us,  so  let 
us  profit  by  them  ;  in  the  new  life  we 
are  beginning,  we  must  neglect  nothing, 
the  body  and  mind  must  repose,  so  that 
we  may  act  vigorously." 

Curumilla  had  slipped  away  but  now 
returned,  bringing  with  him  two  rifles, 
pistols,  and  knives. 

"  My  brothers  had  no  weapons,"  he 
said,  as  he  laid  his  load  before  the  Mexi 
cans. 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


171 


The  latter  thanked  him  heartily;  for, 
owing  to  the  foresight  of  Curumilla, 
who  thought  of  everything,  they  could 
now  enter  the  desert  boldly.  • 

Two  minutes  later  the  five  men  were 
fast  asleep,  and  we  will  take  advantage 
of  their  slumber  to  return  to  Red 
Cedar,  whom  we  left  on  the  point  of 
climbing  through  Dona  Clara's  window, 
while  1'ray  Ambrosio  and  Andres  Ga- 
rote  were  watching  at  either  end  of  the 
street. 

At  one  bound  the  bandit  was  in  the 
room,  after  breaking  open  the  window 
with  a  blow  of  his  fist. 

Dona  Clara,  suddenly  aroused,  leaped 
from  the  bed,  uttering  fearful  cries  at 
the  sight  of  the  terrible  apparition  be 
fore  her. 

"  Silence,"  Red  Cedar  said  to  her,  in 
a  threatening  voice,  as  he  placed  the 
point  of  his  knife  on  her  chest,  "  one 
cry  more,  and  1  kill  you  like  a  dog." 

The  maiden,  trembling  with  fright, 
looked  pitifully  at  the  bandit;  but  Red 
Cedar's  face  wore  such  an  expression  of 
cruelty,  that  she  understood  how  little 
she  had  to  hope  from  this  man.  She 
addressed  a  silent  prayer  to  Heaven, 
and  resigned  herself  to  her  fate. 

The  bandit  gagged  the  poor  child 
with  the  rebozo  that  lay  on  the  bed, 
threw  her  over  his  shoulder,  and  clam 
bered  out  of  the  window  again.  So 
soon  as  he  put  foot  on  the  ground,  he 
whistled  lightly  for  his  comrades  to  re 
join  him,  which  they  did  immediately, 
and,  still  carrying  his  bun  hen,  he  pro 
ceeded  with  them  in  the  direction  of  the 
Rancho  del  Coyote. 

During  the  walk,  which  was  not  a 
long  one,  the  bandits  did  not  meet  a 
soul. 

Andres  opened  the  door  and  lit  a 
candle;  the  ruffians  entered,  and  the 
door  was  carefully  bolted  again.  Thus, 
utter  only  a  few  hours  of  liberty,  the 
wretched  girl  had  fallen  once  more  into 
the  hands  of  her  ravisliers,  and  placed 
again  by  them  in  the  wretched  room 
where  she  had  spent  so  many  days  in 
prayer  and  weeping. 

Red  Cedar  carried  Dona  Clara,  who 
was  in  a  half-fainting  state,  to  her  room, 
removed  the  rebozo,  and  then  returned 
to  the  bar. 


"There;"  he  said,  with  satisfaction, 
"  that  is  all  right ;  the  sheep  has  return 
ed  to  the  fold.  What  do  you  say, 
reverend  father  ]  This  time  let  us  hope 
she  will  not  escape  us." 

The  monk  smiled. 

"  We  shall  do  well  in  not  remaining 
here  long,"  he  said. 

"Why  so?" 

"  Because  this  hiding-place  is  known 
and  will  soon  be  visited." 

The  squatter  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Listen!  Fray  Ambrosio,"  he  sail, 
with  a  sinister  grimace,  whioh  he  in 
tended  for  a  smile.  "  I  predict  that, 
rogue  as  you  are,  you  run  a  great 
chance  of  dying  in  a  fool's  skin,  if  you 
are  not  flayed  beforehand,  which  may 
easily  be  the  case." 

The  monk  shuddered. 

Red  Cedar's  gaiety  had  the  p^culiar- 
ity  of  being  even  more  fearful  than  his 
anger.  The  squatter  sut  down  on  a 
bench,  and  turned  to  the  gambusino. 

"  Drink  !"   he  said  roughly. 

Garote  fetched  a  jar  of  mtzcal,  which 
he  placed  before  his  terrible  accom 
plice. 

The  latter,  not  taking  the  trouble  to 
pour  the  liquor  into  a  glass,  raised  the 
jar  to  his  lips,  and  drank  till  breath 
failed  him. 

"  Hum  !"  he  said,  with  a  click  of 
his  tongue,  "  that's  pleasant  tipple  when 
you're  thirsty.  Listen  to  my  orders, 
my  dear  children,  and  try  to  carry 
them  out  to  the  letter*;  or,  if  not,  your 
roguish  hides  will  bear  the  blame." 

The  three  men  bowed  silently. 

"  You,  Nathan,"  he  went  on,  "  will 
come  with  me,  for  you  are  not  wanted 
here,  but  your  presence  is  necessary  at 
Cierro  Prietfo,  where  our  comrades  are 
encamped." 

"  I  will  follow  you,"  the  young  man 
replied,  laconically. 

"  Good  !  Now,  you  others,  bear  this 
carefully  in  mind  : — Our  enemies  will 
never  suppose  that  I  have  made  such  a 
mistake  as  to  bring  my  prisoner  back 
here ;  for  that  is  so  absurd,  that  the 
idea  will  never  enter  their  heads  ;  so 
you  can  be  at  ease,  and  no  one  will 
trouble  your  peace  of  mind.  To-mor- 
BOW,  so  soon  as  the  moon  rises,  you 
will  make  the  girl  put  on  an  Indian 


172 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


dress,  mount  her,  and  come  to  me  at 
Cierro  Prieto.  Immediately  after  your 
arrival  we  shall  start." 

"  Good  !"  Fray  Ambrosio  answered. 
"  we  will  take  care." 

"  1  expect  so  ;  for,  if  you  do  not,  I 
wouldn't  give  a  cuartillo  for  your  ac 
cursed  hide  my  reverend  friend." 

After  uttering  these  friendly  words, 
the  squatter  seized  the  jar  of  mezcal, 
emptied  it  at  a  draught,  and  sent  it  fly 
ing  across  the  room,  where  it  broke  to 
pieces. 

"  Good  bye  till  to-morrow,"  he  then 
said,  "  come,  Nathan." 

"  Till  to-morrow,"  they  answered. 

The  squatter  and  his  son  left  the 
rancho,  and  walked  on  silently  side  by 
side,  plunged  in  gloomy  reflections  pro 
duced  by  the  events  of  the  night.  They 
soon  left  the  town. 

The  night  was  gloomy,  but  darkness 
did  not  exist  for  squatters  accustomed 
to  find  their  way  anywhere,  and  never 
dreaming  of  going  astray.  They  walk 
ed  thus  for  a  long  time,  with  slung  rifle, 
not  exchanging  a  word,  but  listening  to 
the  slightest  noise  and  sounding,  the 
darkness  with  their  tiger-cat  eyes. 

All  at  once  they  heard  the  firm  foot 
fall  of  a  man  coming  towards  them. 
They  cocked  their  rifles,  ready  for  any 
emergency.  A  voice  was  then  heard, 
though  the  person  to  whom  it  belonged 
was  invisible : 

"  My  brothers  must  not  fire ;  they 
would  kill  a  frienS." 

The  words  were  Apache — a  language 
well  known  to  the  squatters. 

"  Tis  an  Indian,"  said  Nathan. 

"  Do  you  think  I  did  not  recognize 
him  ?"  Red  Cedar  replied,  brutally ; 
"  then,"  he  added,  in  the  stlme  dialect, 
"  there  are  no  friends  in  the  shadow  of 
the  desert.  My  brother  must  get  out 
of  my  path,  or  I  will  kill  him  like  a 
coyote.1' 

"  Is  it  thus,"  the  Indian  continued, 
"  that  the  '  Maneater'  receives  the  guide 
whom  Stanapat,  the  Great  Chief  of  the 
Apaches,  sends  him  ?  In  that  case, 
good-bye.  1  will  retire." 


"  One  moment,"  the  squatter  said, 
sharply,  as  he  lowered  his  rifle,  and 
made  his  son  a  sign  to  follow  his  ex 
ample.,  "  I  could  not  guess  who  you 
were.  Advance  without  fear  and  be 
welcome,  brother,  for  I  was  anxiously' 
expecting  you." 

The  Indian  stepped  forward.  He 
wore  the  costume  and  characteristic 
paint  of  the  Apache  warriors ;  in  a 
word,  he  was  so  well  disguised,  that 
Valentine  himself  could  no:  have  recog 
nized  in  him  his  friend,  Eagle-wing  the 
Chief  of  the  Coras,  though  it  was  he. 

Red  Cedar,  delighted  at  the  arrival 
of  his  guide,  received  him  in  the  most 
affable  manner.  He  had  long  been  ac 
quainted  with  Stanapat,  the  most  fero 
cious  warrior  of  all  the  Indian  nations 
that  traverse  the  immense  regions  of 
the  Rio  Gila,  and  whom  we  shall  pre 
sently  visit. 

After  several  questions,  which  Eagle- 
wing  answered  without  hesitation  or 
once  tripping,  Red  Cedar,  convinced 
that  he  was  really  the  man  the  Apache 
chief  had  promised  to  send  him,  dis 
missed  all  doubt,  and  conversed  with 
him  in  the  mpst  friendly  spirit,  inquir 
ing  after  certain  warriors  he  had  for 
merly  known. 

"  What  is  my  brother's  name  ]"  he 
asked,  in  conclusion. 

"The  Heart  of  Stone!"  Eagle-wing 
replied. 

"  Good  !"  the  squatter  said,  "  my 
brother  has  a  grand  name.  He  must 
be  a  renowned  warrior  in  his  tribe." 

A  short  time  after,  the  three  men 
reached  the  camp  of  the  gambnsinos, 
established  in  a  formidable  position  on 
the  top  of  a  rock  called  the  Cierro 
Prieto  (Black  Mountain). 

The  miners  greeted  Red  Cedar's 
arrival  with  the  most  lively  joy,-  for  his 
presence  announced  a  speedy  departure; 
and  all  these  semi-savages,  the  greater 
part  of  whose  life  had  been  spent  in  the 
prairies,  were  anxious  to  quit,  civiliza 
tion  to  re-assume  their  adventurous 
career,  which  was  so  full  of  charms  and 
strange  incidents. 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


173 


CHAPTER   LI. 

EL     VADODELTORO. 

RED  CEDAR  reasoned  correctly  wher 
he  told  Fray  Ambrosio  and  Garote  that 
Dona  Clara  was  in  safety  at  the  rancho, 
and  no  one  would  dream  of  seeking  hei 
there.  In  truth,  Valentine  knew  the 
squatter's  cunning  too  well  to  suppose 
tiiat  he  would  commit  the  impudence 
of  bringing  his  prisoner  back  to  the 
very  spot  where  she  was  discovered. 

The  squatter's  two  accomplices  passed 
the  day  quietly  in  playing,  on  credit,  at 
monte;  each  cheating  with  a  dexterity 
which  did  honor  to  their  knowledge  of 
that  noble  game.  No  one  came  to  dis 
turb  them,  or  cast  an  indiscreet;  glance 
into  this  famous  den,  which,  in  the 
blight  sunshine,  had  an  air  of  respect 
ability  pleasant  to  look  on,  and  amply 
sufficient  to  dispel  all  suspicions. 

About  nine  in  the  evening,  the  moon, 
though  new,  rose  magnificently  on  a 
deep  blue  sky,  studded  with  brilliant 
stars. 

"  1  fancy  it  is  time  to  get  ready,  gos 
sip,"  Fray  Ambrosio  said,  "  the  moon 
is  peering  through  the  trees  in  your 
neighbor's  garden." 

"  You  are  right,  Senor  Padre,  we  will 
be  off;  but  let  me,  1  implore  you,  first 
finish  this  deal ;  it  is  one  of  the  most 
magnificent  I  ever  witnessed.  Caspita! 
I  will  bet  a  nugget  as  big  as  my  thumb 
on  the  seven  of  clubs." 

"  I'll  back  the  two  of  spades.  Some 
thing  tells  me  it  will  turn  up  fir.st, 
especially  if  you  pull  up  the  sleeves  of 
your  jacket,  which  must  be  horribly  in 
the  way  when  dealing." 

"  Oh  dear,  no,  I  assure  you  ;  but  stay, 
what  did  1  tell  you?  there  is  the  seven 
of  clubs." 

''That  is  really  extraordinary,"  Fray 
Ambrosio  replied,  with  feigned  surprise, 
for  he  was  not  duped  by  the  gambusi- 
no's  trickery ;  "  but  I  fancy  we  had 
better  make  haste." 

"  Decidedly,"  said  Andres,  as  he  hid 
his  greasy  cards  in  his  vaquera  boots, 
and  proceeded  to  the  room  in  which 
Dona  Clara  was  confined.  She  follow 
ed  him  out,  weeping  bitterly. 

"  Come,  come,"  the  gambusino   said 
11 


to  her,  "  dry  your  tears,  senorita ;  we 
do  not  mean  you  any  harm.  Hang  it 
all  !  who  knows  but  this  may  end  per 
haps  better  than  you  expect;  ask  that 
holy  monk  what  he  thinks." 

Fray  Ambrosio  bowed  an  assent,  but 
the  maiden  made  no  response  to  the 
gambusino's  consolation ;  she  allowed 
herself  to  be  disguised  unresistingly,  but 
still  continued  to  weep. 

"  In  truth,  it  is  absurd,"  the  worthy 
Andres  muttered,  in  an  aside  to  himself, 
while  attiring  his  prisoner  and  looking 
covetously  at  the  pearls  with  which  she 
was  adorned,  "  to  waste  gold  and  pearls 
in  this  fashion  ;  would  it  not  be  much 
better  to  use  them  in  buying  something 
servicable  ?  What  she  has  on  her  is 
worth  at  least  three  thousand  piastres — • 
what  a  splendid  game  of  monte  a  fellow 
could  have  with  that  sum — and  if  that 
demon  of  a  Red  Cedar  had  only  been 
willing — well,  we  shall  see  presently." 

While  making  these  judicious  reflec 
tions,  the  gambusino  had  completed  the 
maiden's  Indian  toilet.  He  perfected 
the  disguise  by  throwing  a  zarape  over 
her  shoulders;  then  giving  a  parting 
glance  round  his  domicile,  he  put  in  his 
pocket  a  pack  of  cards  accidently  left 
on  the  table,  drank  a  large  glass  of 
spirits.,  and  left  the  room,  followed  by 
Dona  Clara  and  the  monk,  who,  in  spite 
of  the  varying  incidents  of  the  last  few 
days  had  regained  all  his  good  humor, 
doubtless  owing  to  the  good  company 
in  which  he  was,  and  the  game  of  monte 
— that  inveterate  passion  in  every  Mex 
ican. 

Dona  Clara  was  placed  on  a  horse  ; 
Andres  and  the  monk  also  mounted, 
md  leaving  the  house  to  the  problem*!- 
cal  care  of  Providence,  the  gambusino 
gave  the  signal  for  departure.  He 
nade  a  wide  circuit,  -to  avoid  passing 
.hrough  the  Presidio,  and  then  started 
at  a  gallop  in  the  direction  of  the  Cierro 
r*etro. 

Red  Cedar  had  lost  no  time,  and  all 
was    ready   for    departure.      The    new- 
lOiners  did  not  even  dismount,  but  so 
oon  as  they  were  sighted,  the  caravan, 
lomposed,  as  we  have   stated  of  some 
luudred  and  twenty  resolute  men,  after 
brming  in    Indian    file,  started    in    the 
direction    of   the  prairies,  having    first 


174 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER." 


prudently  detached  two  scouts  to  watch 
the  neighborhood. 

Nothing  is  so  mournful  as  a  night 
inarch  in  an  unknown  country,  covered 
with  snares  of  every  description,  when 
you  fear  least  the  ever-watchful  enemy 
may  pounce  on  you  from  every  bush. 

Thus,  the  gambusinos,  restless,  and 
starting  at  the  slightest  rustling  of  the 
leaves,  advanced  silently  and  gloomily, 
with  their  eyes  fixed  on  the  clumps  that 
grew  along  the  wayside,  rifle  in  hand, 
ready  to  fire  at  the  slightest  suspicious 
movement.  They  marched,  however, 
lor  upwards  of  three  hours,  and  nothing 
happened  to  justify  their  fears  ;  a  solemn 
calmness  continued  to  prevail  around 
them.  Gradually  these  apprehensions 
were  dissipated;  they  began  talking  in 
a  suppressed  voice,  and  laughing  at  their 
past  terrors,  when  they  reached,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Del  Norte,  the  vado,  or 
Ford  del  Toro. 

In  the  interior  of  Southern  America, 
and  specially  in  New  Mexico,  a  coun 
try  still  almost  entirely  unknown,  the 
means  of  communication  are  nil,  and 
consequently  bridges  may  be  looked 
tor  in  vain.  There  are  only  two  me 
thods  of  crossing  even  the  widest  riv 
ers — looking  for  a  ford,  or,  if  you  are 
in  a  great  hurry,  forcing  your  horse 
into  the  oft-times  rapid  current,  and 
trying  to  reach  the  other  bank  by 
swimming. 

The  squatter  had  selected  the  first 
method,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the 
whole  party  was  in  the  water.  Al 
though  th-e  ground  of  the  ford  was  un 
even,  and  at  times  the  horses  were  up 
to  their  chests,  and  compelled  to  swim, 
t.ie  gambuaiuo  managed  to  get  across 
Saiely. 

"  It  is  our  turn  now,  Heart  of  Stone," 
the  squatter  said,  addressing  Eagle- 
\ving;  "you  see  that  our  rnen  are  in 
saietv,  and  only  await  us  to  set  out 
again." 

"  The  squaw  first,"  the  Indian  replied, 
laconically. 

4i  That  is  true,  chief,"  the  squatter 
said,  and,  turning  to  the  prisoner,  "  Go 
across,"  he  said  to  her,  coarsely. 

The  maiden,  not  deigning  to  answer, 
boldly  made  her  horse  enter  the  river, 
and  the  three  men  followed. 


The  night  was  dark,  the  sky  covered 
.with  clouds,  and  the  moon,  constantly 
veiled,  only  shone  forth  at  lengthened 
intervals,  which  rendered  the  passage 
difficult  and  even  dangerous,  as  it  did 
not  allow  objects  to  be  distinguished, 
even  at  a  distance. 

Still,  after  a  few  seconds,  Red  Cedar 
fancied  he  saw  that  Dona  Clara's  horse 
was  not  following  the  line  traced  by  the 
ford,  but  was  turning  to  the  left,  as  if 
carried  away  by  the  current.  He  push 
ed  his  horse  forward,  to  assure  himself 
of  the  reality  of  the  fact ;  but  suddenly 
a  rigorous  hand  seized  his  right  leg,  and 
before  he  could  even  think  of  resisting, 
he  was  hurled  back  into  the  water,  and 
his  throat  seized  by  an  Indian. 

Andres  Garote  hurried  to  his  assist 
ance. 

During  this  time,  Dona  Clara's  horse, 
probably  obeying  a  hidden  impulse, 
was  proceeding  still  further  from  the 
spot  where  the  gambusinos  had  landed. 

Some  of  them,  at  the  head  of  whom 
were  Dick,  Harry,  and  the  squatter's 
three  sons,  perceiving  what  was  going 
on,  returned  to  the  water,  to  proceed  to 
their  chief's  help,  while  the  others,  guid 
ed  by  Fray  Ambrosio,  galloped  down 
the  river  bank,  in  order  to  cut  off  re 
treat,  when  Dona  Clara's  horse  landed. 

Andres  Garote,  after  several  fruitless 
efforts,  succeeded  in  catching  Red 
Cedar's  horse,  which  he  brought  to  him 
at  the  moment  when  the  latter  had 
scalped  his  enemy. 

The  American  got  into  his  saddle 
again,  reached  the  bank,  and  tried  to  re 
store  some  order  among  his  band,  while 
actually  watching  the  incidents  of  the 
silent  drama  being  played  in  the  river 
between  Eagle-wing  and  the  young 
Spanish  girl. 

The  Coras  sachem  had  urged  his  steed 
in  pursuit  of  Dona  Clara's,  and  both 
were  following  almost  the  same  line 
down  the  stream,  the  former  striving  to 
catch  up  the  latter,  who,  for  her  part, 
was  doing  her  utmost  to  widen  the  dis 
tance  between  them.  Suddenly  tlie 
Coras  horse  gave  a  leap,  while  uttering 
a  snort  of  pain,  and  began  madly  beat- 
in »  the  water  with  its  forelegs,  while 
the  river  was  tinged  with  blood  around 
it.  The  chief,  perceiving  that  his  horse 


THE    TRAIL-HUNTER. 


175 


was  mortally  wounded,  leaped  from  the 
saddle,  and  leant  over  the  side,  ready  to 
.trfip  off. 

At  this  moment,  a  hideous  face  ap 
peared  flush  with  water,  and  a  hand  was 
Wretched  out  to  grasp  him.  With  that 
imperturbable  coolness  that  never  de 
serts  the  Indians,  even  under  the  most 
v-ritical  circumstances,  the  Coras  seized 
hi.s  tomahawk,  split  his  enemy's  skull 
open,  and  glided  into  the  river. 

A  formidable  war-yell  was,  at  (his 
moment,  heard  from  the  forest,  and 
some  fifty  shots  were  fired  from  both 
banks  at  once,  illumining  the  scene  with 
their  fugitive  flashes. 

A  multitude  of  redskins  rushed  on  the 
gambusinos,  and  a  terrible  fight  com 
menced. 

The  Mexicans,  taken  unawares,  de 
fended  themselves  at  first  poorly,  giving 
ground  and  seeking  shelter  behind  trees  ; 
but,  obeying  the  thundering  voice  of  the 
squatter,  who  performed  prodigies  of 
valor  while  exciting  his  comrades  to 
sell  their  lives  dearly,  they  regained 
courage,  formed  in  close  column,  and 
charged  the  Indians  furiously,  beating 
them  down  with  the  butts  of  their  mus 
kets,  or  slashing  them  with  their  ma 
chetes. 

The  combat  was  short;  the  redskins, 
who  were  only  a  party  of  marauding 
Pawnees,  seeing  the  ill-result  of  their 
surprise,  grew  discouraged,  and  disap 
peared  as  rapidly  as  tliey  had  come. 
Two  minutes  later  calmness  and  silence 
were  so  perfectly  re-established,  that 
had  it  not  been  for  a  few  wounded  gam- 
businos,  and  several  Indians  stretched 
dead  on  the  battle-field,  the  strange 


scene  would  have  appeared  as  a  dream. 
So  soon  as  the  Indians  were  routed, 
Red  Cedar  bent  an  eager  glance  up  the 
river;  on  that  side  the  struggle  was 
also  over,  and  Eagle-wing,  mounted  be 
hind  the  young  lady,  was  guiding  her 
horse  to  the  bank,  which  it  soon  reach 
ed. 

"  Well  ?"  the  squatter  asked. 

"  The  Pawnees  are  cowardly  coyotes," 
the  Coras  answered,  pointing  to  two 
human  scalps  that  hung  all  bloody  from 
his  girdle;  "they  fly  like  old  women, 
so  soon  as  they  see  the  war-plume  of  a 
warrior  of  my  nation." 

"Good  !"  the  squatter  said,  gleefullv, 
"  my  brother  is, a  great  warrior  ;  he  has 
a  friend." 

The  Coras  bowed  with  a  smile  of  in 
describable  meaning.  His  object  was 
gained  ;  he  had  acquired  the  confidence 
of  the  man  he  meant  to  destroy. 

Dona  Clara,  Ellen,  and  the  squatter's 
wife  were  placed  in  the  centre  of  the 
caravan,  and  the  band  started  again. 

An  hour  later,  a  second  party  of 
horsemen  also  crossed  the  Vado  del 
Toro.  It  was  much  less  numerous  than 
the  first,  as  it  consisted  of  only  five 
men,  but  they  were  Valentine,  Curu- 
milla,  Don  Miguel,  his  son,  and  Gene 
ral  Ibanez. 

The  real  struggle  was  about  to  com- 
mence  :  behind  them  they  Jeft  the  civi 
lized  world,  to  find  themselves  face  to 
'ace  on  the  desert  with  their  enemies. 

(Those  of  our  readers  who  take  an  in- 
jfcerest  in  the  Trail-hunter,  we  must  ask 
to  follow  his  adventures  through  a  se 
cond  volume,  to  be  called — THE  PIRATES 
OF  THE  PRAIKIES.) 


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THE  NEXT  FOUR  PAGES  CONTAIN  AND  DESCRIBE  . 

OF  THE  MOST  POPULAR  AND  BEST  SELLING  BOOKS  IN  THE  WORLD 


The  Books  will  also  be  found  to  be  the  Best  and  Latest  Publications  by  the  most  Popular  and  Cele 
brated  Writers  in  the  World.  They  are  also  the  most  Readable  and  Entertaining  Books  published. 

Sellable  for  the  Parlor,  Library,  Sitting  Boom,  Railroad,  Steamboat,  or  Chamber  Reading. 
Published  and  for  Sale  by  T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS,  Philadelphia 
jgj^»  Booksellers,  Gift  and  News  Agents,  etc.,  will  be  Supplied  at  very  Low  Bates. 


SPECIAL    NOTICE    TO    BOOKSELLERS    AND    DEALERS,  -ft* 


T.  B.  PETERSON  Si  BROTHERS  would  stat«  that  they 
tre  now  selling  all  their  publication*)  at  prices  which 
we,  In  themselves,  a  very  special  inducement  for  deal 
ers,  whatever  may  be  the  extent  ol'  their  trade,  to  open 
Accounts  with  them  for  them,  dira?<,  instead  of  ordering 
them  through  other  houses.  But,  as  an  additional 
inducement  for  dealers  to  open  accounts  with  us,  we 
Will  furnish  them  with  ample  supplies  of  editors'  copies 
•f  all  car  new  Publications,  whether  in  cloth  or  paper, 
together  with  circulars  and  show-bills.  Our  lar//e  dis- 
aounti,  as  is  already  well  known,  are  larger  than  those 
tf  any  other  house  in  the  trade  ;  a  fact  which  will,  we 
trust,  induce  all  dealers  who  are  not  already  in  corres 
pondence  with  us  to  give  ns  a  trial. 

We  deal  in  and  supply  every  thing  of  interest  to  the 
Trade,  and  sell  at  prices  which  cannot  fail  to  give  the 
>Boat  thorough  satisfaction.  Trouble,  care,  and  attention 
.act  regarded  as  of  &ny  moment,  so  long  as  they  result 
In  witisfying  our  friends.  The  attention  of  the  Trade 
IB  solicited  t-?  tae  large  list  of  Useful  and  Standard 
Worki,  Original  and  Reprint  Works,  in  every  depart 
ment  of  Iterature  issued  by  ns.  This  list  contains  the 
T«ry  "vest  and  most  saleable  works  in  the  market,  and 
Will  be  continually  Increased  by  the  addition  of  ill  the 


new  first-class  Publications,  as  well  as  all  the  most  m 
ful  works  of  the  age.     We  publish  near  on<^  hnndrsa 
editions  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  and  Chailes   Dickens' 
works,  alone,  as  well  as  Miss  Leslie's,  Mrs.  Widdifleld'f 
Mn.  Bale's,  and  all  the  other  best  Cook  Books  issued. 

Country  dealers  will  find  that  by  ordering  from  u», 
all  their  orders  will  be  filled  as  quickly,  and  on  a* 
favorable  terms,  as  if  they  were  on  the  spot  themselves. 
They  will  find  us  early,  prompt,  and  energetic,  and  tl> 
ways  watchful  of  their  interests.  We  also  wish  it  ils- 
tinctly  understood,  that  in  order  to  give  our  customer* 
extra  facilities,  we  will  enclose  in  the  package  (without 
extra  charge /  any  thing  else  they  may  order  and  have 
to  receive  from  any  other  house  in  Philadelphia,  so  that 
it  may  reach  them  without  any  extra  cost. 

Dealers  aud  strangers  visiting  the  city,  and  all  other*, 
are  invited  to  call  and  examine  our  large  and  well- 
assorted  stock,  embracing  ample  supplies  in  every/ 
branch  of  English  .literature,  and  comprising  work* 
in  all  styles  of  bindings,  fro  u  the  most  costly  to  th« 
cheapest  editions,  rersons  \*  thing  any  thing  from  BJ 
at  all,  have  oniy  to  enclose  an\  amount  of  money  they 
please,  and  order  what  they  wVfh,  and  they  will  the* 
receive  them  at  once. 


:  To  those  with  whom  we  have  no  open  account,  Cash  with  orde-j,  Five  per  ettt 
off,  or  responsible  city 


CAROLINE    LEE    IIENTZ'S    WORKS. 

The  LiOst  Daughter  ;  and  Other  Stories  of  the 
Heart.  (Just  published.)  Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar ;  or  bound  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

The  Planter's  Northern  Bride.  Two  vol 
umes,  paper.  Price  One  Dollar ;  or  $1.25  in  cloth. 

Linda.  The  Young  Pilot  of  the  Belle 
Creole.  Price  $1.00  iu  paper,  or  $1.25  in  cloth. 

Robert  Graham.  The  Sequel  to,  and  Continua 
tion  of  Linda.  Price  $1.00  in  paper,  or  $1.23  in  cloth. 

Courtship  and  Marriage.  Two  vols.,  paper 
cover.  Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  iu  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

Rena|  or,  The  Snow  Bird.  Two  vols.,  paper 
cover.  Price  One  Dollar ;  or  oue  vol.,  cloth,  $'  25. 

Bf  arena  Wai-land.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar;  or  boind  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

Love  after  Marriage.  Two  vols.,  paper  cover. 
Price  Oue  Dollar  ;  or  in  oue  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

The  Planter's  Daughter.  Two  vois.,  paper 
•over.  Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25 

B£e>7 tiir  i  or,  Magnolia  Vale.  Two  vols.,  paper 
cover.  Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25 

The  Banished  Son.  Two  vols.,  paper  cover 
Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Helen  and  Arthur.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

G.  P.  R.  JAMBS'  NKW  BOOKS. 

The  Cavalier.  An  Historical  Romance.  With  a 
steel  portrait  of  the  author.  Two  vols.,  pap*>r  cover. 
Pric«  One  Dollar;  or  in  ong  volume,  el.tn,  $1.20. 

Lord  Montagu's  Page.  With  an  IlluHtra 
tive  ateel  titlj-puge.  Two  vol*.,  pap«r  cover  Pric* 
Oue  Dollar;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 


MISS    BREMER'S    NEW   WORKS. 
The  Father  and  Daughter.  By  Fredrika  Br«. 

mer.   Two  vols.,  paper.    Price  $1.00;  or  cloth,  $1.25 
The    Kour    Sisters.      Two  vols.,   paper  covet 

Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.29 
The  Neighbors.    Two  vols.,  paper  cover.     Priot 

One  Dollar;  or  in  one  volume  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
The    Home.     Two  volumes,  paper  cover.     Prior 

One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

GREEN'S  WORKS  ON  GAMBLING- 

Gambling  Exposed.  By  J.  H.  Green,  the  R* 
Armed  Gambler.  Two  vols.,  paper  cover.  Price  Oo* 
Dollar  ;  or  iu  one  volume,  cloth,  gilt,  $1.25. 

The  Gambler's  Life.  Two  vols..  paper  c«T8? 
Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  /ilt,  $1.2* 

Secret  Band  of  Brothers.  Two  vols.,  pap* 
cover.  Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  cloth,  price  $1.25. 

The  Reformed  Gambler.  Two  volt ,  pap«l 
Price  Cue  Dollar  ;  or  in  cloth,  price  $1.25. 

J      A.   MAITLAND'S    GREAT    WORKS 

The  Three  Cousins.     By  J.  A.  Maitland.     Tw« 

voli.,  paper.    Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  oae  vol.,  cloth,  $1.20 

The  Watchman.  Complete  in  two  large  volume* 

paper  cover.     Price  $1.00 ;  or  in  one  vol  ,  cloth,  $1.2f 
The  Wanderer.   Complete  in  two  volumes,  pap<»> 

cover.  Price  $1.00;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.26 
The  Diary  of  an    Old  Doctor.    Two  vols., 

paper  cover.    Price  $1.00  ;  or  bound  in  cloth  for  $1.26. 
The    Lawyer's    Story.     Two  volumes,  pap«l 

cover.     Price  $1.00  ;  or  bound  iu  cloth  for  $1.23. 
Sartaroe.      A   Tale   of    Norway.    Two   voV 

nines,  paper  cover.     Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.31 


Copioi  of  any  of  the  above  Works,  w  1  be  sent  by  Mail,  Free  of  Postage,  on  rece  ••  of  the  Pno* 


T.   B.  PETERSON   &   BROTHERS'   LIST   OF   BOUND   BOOKS. 


WHS.    SOUTH-WORTH'S  WORKS. 
The  Haunted  Homestead.    Two  TO!S.,  paper 

cover.    Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  TO!.,  cloth,  $1  25. 
The  Lady  of  t  lie  Isle.    Complete  in  two  vela 

paper  cover.     Price  $1.00 ;  ot  in  oue  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
The  Two  Sisters.     Complete  in  two  volumes, 

papercover.     Price  $1.00 ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

The  Three  Beauties.    Complete  in  two  vols., 

paper  cover.    Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  v  •!.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
Vlvia.     The   Secret  of  Power.    Two  vol.s.; 

paper  cover.     Price$1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
India.     The  Pearl  of  Pearl  River.     Two 

rein.,  paper  cover.     Price  $1.00;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
The  'Wife's  Victory.     Two  vols.,  paper  cover. 

Pries  Oue  Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Th*  Lost   Heiress.      Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 

Pri»  Oue  Dollar;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25 
The  Missing  Bride.    Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 

Price  Oue  Dollar;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Retribution  i  A  Tale  of  Passion.  Twovrls., 

paper  cover.    Price  $1 .00 ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
The  C*rse  of  Clifton.    Two  volg.,  paper  cover. 

Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
The  Discarded  Daughter.    Two  vols.,  paper 

cover.     Price  Hue  Dollar  ;  or  ia  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
The  Deserted  "Wife.    Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 

Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
The  Jealous  Husband.    Two  volumes,  paper 

cover.     Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Courtship  and   Matrimony.    Two  vols.,  pa 
per  cover.     Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  iu  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Che  Belle  of  Washington..    Two  vols.,  paper 

cover.     Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
fhe  Initials.     A  Love  Story.    Two  vols.,  pa 
per  cover,    i'rice  One  Dollar  ;  or  bound  in  cloth,  $1.25. 
Kate  Aylesford.    Two  vols.,  paper  cover.     Price 

GJ*  Dollar ;  or  bound  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Vhe  Dead   Secret.    Two  volumes,  paper  cover 

Price  One  Dollar;  or  bouud  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25, 

WORKS  BY  THE   IJKST  AUTHORS. 

Lizzy  Glenn;  or,  The  Trials  of  a  Seam 
stress.  By  T.  S.  Arthur.  Complete  in  oue  vol., 
«loth,  gilt.  Price  $1.26,  or  in  two  vols.,  f-iper  cover,  $1. 

•femolrs  of  Vidocq,  Principal  Agent  of  the 
French  Police.  Written  by  Himself.  With  illus 
trative  engravings.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Wild  Southern  Scenes.  By  author  of  "Wild 
Western  Sc-eus-i."  Two  volumes,  paper  cover.  Price 
One  Dollar;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

«  L«  Adopted  Heir.  By  Miss  Pardoe.  Two  vols., 
paper.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth,  $1.25. 

Lola  Moult/.1  Lectures  and  Life.  Two  vols., 
papercover.  Price  $1.00;  orin  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

Harris's  Explorations  in  South  Africa. 
By  Major  Cornvrallis  Harris.  One  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

Don  Q,utxotte.— Life  and  Adventures  of 
Don  Q,uixotte.~  One  volume,  cloth,  $1.25. 

The  Old  Stone  Mansion.  By  Charles  J.  Peter- 
ton.  Two  vols.,  paper.  Price  $1.00;  or  in  cloth,  $1.25. 

Indiana.  By  author  of  "Consuelo,"  etc.  Twovcls., 
paper  cover.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

The  (Quaker  Soldier;  or,  The  British  iu 
Philadelphia.  By  a  noted  Judge.  Two  vcia., 
paper  cover.  Price  Oue  Dollar ;  or  in  cloth,  $1.25. 

Onrrer  Lyle  ;  or,  The  Autobiography  of 
•m  Actress.  By  Louise  Reeder.  Two  voiuine*, 
paper  cover.  Price  $1.00 ;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Life  and  Beauties  of  Fanny  Fern.  Two 
Tol*.,  paper,  price  $1.00;  orin  cloth,  for  f  1.25. 

The  Roman  Traitor.  By  H.  W.  Herbert.  Two 
•volumes,  paper.  Price  $1.00;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

The  Lady's  Work-Table  Book.  Full  of 
plates.  Bound  in  crimson  cloth,  gilt.  Price  One  Dollar. 

The  Ladies'  Complete  Guide  to  Needle 
work  and  Kmbroidery.  The  best  wvk  on 
this  suDjecl  e\er  published.  Cloth.  Price  $1.25. 


.lua    ai4T 

"Straw 
n  Orial' 
c*  $!.£ 


HUMOROUS  ILLUSTRATED  WORKS 

Major    Jones'    Courtship    and    Travel** 

Beautifully  illustrated.    One  vol.,  cloth.    Price  $1.26. 

High  Life  In  New  York.    By  Jonathan  SHci 

Beautfully  Illustrated.     Two  volumes,  paper  covei 

.  Price  One  Dollar ;  or  bound  in  one  xpl.,  cloth,  $1,25. 

Major  Jones'  Scenes  in  Georgia.  Fall  ot 
beautiful  illustrations.  One  vol.,  cloth.  Prie«  $1.25. 

Judge  Haliburton's  Yankee  Stories. 
Two  vols.,  paper  cj/er.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  cloth,  $1.26, 

Simon  Suggs'  Adventures  and  Travel*. 
Illustrated.  One  volume,  cloth.  Price  $1.25. 

Humors  of  Falconbridge.    Two  vols.,  papal 

cover.     Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  iu  oue  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

I    Piney  Woods  Tavern;  or,  Sam  Slitk  in 

Texas.  Cloth,  $1.25  ;  or  2  vols.,  paper  cover,  $1.00 

Sam  Slick,  the  Clockmaker.  By  Jo4g« 
Haliburtou.  Illustrated.  One  volume,  cloth,  $1.25; 
or  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  $1.00. 

The     Swamp     Doctor's    Adventures    iu 
the   South-West.     Containing  the  whole  of  tb 
Louisiaua  Swamp  Doctor;  Streaks  of  Sqnatter  Ll£ 
and   Far-Western  Scenes;  in  a  Series  of  Forty-Tv 
Humorous   Southern  aud  Western  Sketches,  descr*-> 
tive  of  lucideut  aud  Character.    With  14  Illustration 
from  designs  by  Darley.     Cloth.     Price  $1.3». 

Major  Thorpe's  Scenes  In  Arkansas*  ;• 
containing  the  wliolw  01  .ie  f"  Quarter  Kace  in  Ken 
tucky,"  and  "  Bob  Herring,  the  Arkansas  BeM 
Hunter,"  to  which  is  added  the  "  Drama  in  Poker- 
ville."  With  Sixteen  illustrations  from  Designs  by 
Darley.  Complete  in  one  volume,  cloth.  Price  $  1.2ft 

The   Big  Bear's   Adventures  and    Trav* 
els  :    containius;  the  whole  of  the  Adventures  aai 
Travels  of  the  "  Big  Bear  of  Arkausaw,"  and  "St; 
Sul'f-cts."     With  Eighteen  Illustrations  from 
nal  Designs  by  Darley.  One  vol.,  bouud.  Pric*  ) 

Sol  Smith's  Adventures  and  Travels 
Beautifully  illustrated.  Oue  volume,  cloth,  $1.25. 

Billy  Burton's  Humorous  .Sketches 
Illustrated  by  Darley.  One  volume,  cloth,  $1.25. 

Joe  Neal's  Adventures  and  Sketches 
Illustrated  by  Darley.  Oue  volume,  cloth,  $1.25. 

South-Western  Sketches  of  l!uiry>- 
With  illustrations  by  Darley.  One  vol.,  cloth,  $1.2  • 

Sam  Slick's  Yankee  Stories  and  Letter* 
By  Judge  Haliburtou.  Oue  volume,  cloth,  $1.25. 

Adventures  of  Captain  Priest.  Two  voUH 
paper  cover.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Major  O'Regan's  and  Captain  Farrago's 
Adventures  and  Travels.  By  JuigeBreck 
enridge.  Oue  volume,  cloth,  $1.25 

Frank  Forester's  Sporting  Scene*  and 
Characters.  Illustrated.  Two  vols.,  tioth,  $2.50. 

MRS.   ANN    S.   STEPHENS'  WORKS. 
The    Heiress.    Two  volumes,  paper  cover.    Pries 

One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  fci  $1.25. 
Mary    Derwent.      Two  volumes,    paper    corer. 

Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.26. 
Fashion   and    Famine.     Two  volun.e«,  p»pec 

cover.      Price  $1.00;   or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.26. 
The    Old    Homestead.      Two  volumes,  ptpCT 

cover.     Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  oue  vol.,  cloth,  $1.2i. 

DOW'S   PATENT   SERMONS. 

9cg~  Each  volume,  or  series,  is  complete  in  iUelf,  ant 
volumes  are  sold  (separately  to  any  one,  or  in  sets. 
Dow's     Short     Patent    Sermons.      First 

Series.     By  Dow,  Jr.    Contaiaingl28  Sfrmont. 

Complete  in  one  vol.,  bound  in  cloth,  for  Out  Dollar 
Dow's   Short    Patent   Sermons.     Second 

Series.     By  Dow,  Jr.     Containing  144  Sermona, 

Complete  in  one  vol.,  bound  iu  c'.oth,  for  One  Dollar 
Dow's    Short     Patent     Sermons.      Third 

Series.     By  Dow,  Jr.     Coutaiuing  116  Sermona. 

Complete  in  one  vol.,  bound  in  cloth,  for  One  Dollar. 
Dow's    Short    Patent   Sermons.     Fourth 

Series.     By  Dow,  Jr.     Coutaiuing  152  Sarmom. 

Complete  in  oue  vol.,  bound  iu  cloth,  for  Oue  Dollar. 


lopiei  of  any  of  th«  above  Works  vril  be  sent  b*  mail,  Free  of  Postage,  en  receip*  of  the  Priot 


T.  B.  PETERSON    &   BROTHERS'    LIST   OF   BOUND   BOOKS. 


COOK    BOOKS. 

Petersons'  New  Cook  Book  ;  or,  Useful  Re 
ceipts  for  the  Hovsewife  and  the  uninitiated.  Full 
of  valuable  receipts,  all  original  aud  never  before 
published,  aU.  of  which  will  be  found  to  be  very 
•valuable  andi.f  daily  use.  Price  $1.25. 

Miss  Leslie's  Xew  Cookery  Book.  Being  the 
largest,  best,  and  in»*t  complete  Cook  Book  ever  got 
up  by  Miss  Leslie.  One  volume,  bound.  Price $1.26. 

Wtddifleld's  New  Cook  Book,  or,  Practical 
Receipts  for  the  Housewife.  Cloth.  Price  One  Dollar. 

Mr*.  Halt's  New  Cook  Book.  By  Mrs.  Sarah 
J.  Hale.  One  volume,  bound.  Price  One  Dollar. 

Ml**  Leslie's  New  Receipts  for  Cooking. 
Complete  in  one  volume,  bound.  Price  One  Dollar. 

MRS.   HALE'S   RECEIPTS. 
Mrs.    Hnle's    Receipts    for  the    Million. 

Containing  •l~>4.'>   Receipts.     By  Mrs.  Sarah  J.  Hale. 
One  volume,  800  pages,  strongly  bound.     Price,  $1.25. 

MISS    LESLIE'S    BEHAVIOUR    BOOK. 
Miss    Leslie's    Behaviour    Book.      A   com 
plete  Unide  and  Mauual  for  Ladies.     Price $1.25. 

DOESTICKS'     BOOKS. 
Doestlcks'  Letters.  Complete  in  two  vols.,  paper 

cover.    Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
Plu-ri-bus-tah.     Complete  in  two  vols.,  paper 

cover.     Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
Flie  Eli-pliant  Club.    Complete  in    two  voU., 

paper  cover.     Pries  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol  ,  cloth,  $1.25. 
Wltclie*  of  New  York.    Ccaplete  in  two  vols., 

paper  cover.     Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

GEORGE     LIPPARD'S     \VORKS. 
Legends  of  the  American  Revolution 

or,  Washington  and  his  Generals.     Cloth,  $1.25. 
The  (Quaker  City  (  or,  The  Monks  of  Monk  Hall. 

One  volume,  cloth.     Price  $1.25. 
Paul    Ardenheim;   the    Monk  of  Wissahikon. 

Oae  volume,  cloth.     Price  $1.25. 
Blanche    of   Brandywiue.    A  Revolutionary 

Eojuauce.     One  volume,  cloth.     Price  $l.^o. 

EUGENE     SUE'S    GREAT    WOlvKS. 

Illustrated  Wandering  Jew.  With  Eighty- 
seven  large  Illustrations.  One  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

Hysterics    of   Paris  $    and  Gerolsteln,  the 

Sequel  to  it.     One  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
Martin  the  Foundling.    Beautifully  Illustra 
ted.     One  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

EMERSON     BENNETT'S     WORKS. 
The     Border    Rover.      A    Companion    to    the 

"  Prairie  Flower."  Bound  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for $1.23. 
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The  Banished  Son.  Two  vols,,  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Helen  and  Arthur.  Two  volumes  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

The  Planter's  Daughter.  Two  vols.,  paper 
cover  Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  ijil-25. 

The  whole  of  the  above  are  also  rublished  in  a  very 
Ine  style,  bound  in  full  Crimson,  with  gilt  edges,  full 
riit  sides,  gilt  backs,  etc.,  making  them  tlm  best  books 
for  presentation,  »t  the  price,  published.  Price  of  either 
•u«  in  this  style,  Two  Dollars  a  copy. 


MISS    BREWER'S    SEW    WORKS. 
The  Father  and  Daughter.  By  Fredrika  Br* 

iner.   Two  vols.,  paper.    Price  $1.00;  or  cloth,  $1.25. 
The    Four    Sisters.      Two   vols.,    paper  cover 

Price  One  Dollar  •  or  in  one  volrme.  cloth,  for  $1.26. 
The  Neighbors.    Two  vols.,  paper  cover.     Pric« 

Cne  Dollar;  or  in  ore  volume  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
The    Home.     Txrc  volumes,  paper  cover.     Prlet 

One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.26. 

MRS     ANN   S.   STEPHENS'  \VORKS. 
The    Heiress.    Two  volumes,  paper  cover.     Prio« 

One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  On«  Doll%t 

aud  Twenty-Five  Cents. 
Mary    Derwent.      Two  volumes,    paper    cover. 

Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.26. 
Fashion   and    Famine.     Two  volumes,  pap«t 

cover.     Price  $1.00;   or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
The    Old    Homestead.      Two  volume*,  papor 

cover.     Price  One  Dollar,  or  in  one  vol_  cloth.  il.M. 

MISS    LESLIE'S    BEHAVIOITR    BOOK. 

Miss    Leslie's    Behaviour    Book.      A   cora- 

plete'Guide  and  Manual  for  Ladies,  as  regards  their 
conversation,  manners,  dress,  introduction,  entree  to 
society;  shopping;  conduct  in  th«  stratt ;  at  placet 
of  amusement ;  in  traveling  ;  at  the  table,  either  at 
home,  in  company,  or  at  hotels  ;  deportment  in  gen 
tlemen's  society  ;  lips;  complexion;  teeth;  hands.* 
the  hair,  &c.,  &c.  With  full  instructions  and  advic« 
in  letter-writting ;  receiving  presents;  incorrect 
words;  borrowing:  obligations  to  gentlemen;  deoo 
rum  in  church  ;  at  evening  purlieu  ;  and  full  sugges 
tions  in  bad  practices  and  habits  easily  contracted 
whicli  no  young  lady  should  be  guilty  of,  4c.,  &o 
Complete  in  one  large  bound  volume.  Price  $1.36. 


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T    B    PETERSON   &  BUOTHLRS'   LIST   01    PUBLICATIONS. 


MRS.    SOUTHWORTH'S  WORKS. 

flie  Haunted  Homestead.    Two  vols.,  paper 

cover.     Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  i  a  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
The  Lady  of  the  Isle.    Complete  in  two  vols., 

papor  cover.     Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
The  Two  Sisters.     Complete  in  two  volumes, 

paper  cover.     Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.2.5. 
The  Three  Beauties.    Complete  in  '.wo  vols., 

paper  cover.    Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
Vivia.    The   Secret  of  Power.    Two  vola. 

paper  cover.     Price$1.00  ;  Dr  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
India.     The  Pearl  of  Pearl  River.     Two 

vols.,  paper  cover.     Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.25 
Tlie  Wife's  Victory.     Two  vols.,  paper  cover. 

Pr.:a  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25 
The  Lost   Heiress.      Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 

Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
TUe  Missing  Bride.    Tw«-  volumes,  paper  >over. 

Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  vomme,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Attribution  :  A  Tale  of  Passion.  Two  vols., 

paper  cover.    Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
The  Curse  of  Clifton.    Tvo  vols.,  paper  cover. 

Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Tlie  Discarded  Daughter      Two  vols.,  paper 

cover.     Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  cue  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
The  Deserted  Wife.    Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 

Price  Oue  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25 
flie  Jealous  Husband.    Two  volumes,  paper 

cov«r.     Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Courtship  and   Matrimony.    Two  vols.,  pa 

per  cover.     Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
The  B«lle  of  Washington.    Two  vols.,  paper 

cover.     Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
¥h«  Initials.     A  Love  Story.     Two  vols.,  pa 

per  cover.    Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  bound  in  cjoth,  $1.35. 
Hate  Aylesford.    Two  vols.,  paper  cover.     Price 

One  Dollar  ;  or  bound  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
The  Dead   Secret.    Two  volumes,  p*per  cover. 

Price  One  Dollar;  or  bound  in  one  vol.,  croth,  $1.25. 
IThe  Rival  Belles.     Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 

Prise  Oue  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Che  Devoted  Bride  ;  or,  the  Rebel  Lover. 

Two  vols.,  paper  cover.  Price  $1.00;  or  in  cloth,  $1.25. 

T.  S.   A-RTHUR'S   NEW  WORK. 

Lizzy  Glenn;  or,  The  Trials  of  a  Seam 

stress.  By  T  S.  Arthur.  Complete  in  one  vol., 
bound  in  cloth  gilt.  Price  $1.25;  or  in  two  vol- 
nmee,  paper  cover,  for  One  Dollar. 

J.    A.   MAITLAND'S    GREAT    WORKS. 

The  Watchman.  Complete  in  two  large  volumes, 

paper  cover.     Price  $1.00;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
The  "Wanderer.   Complete  in  two  volumes,  paper 

cover.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
fhe  Diary  of  an  Old  Doctor.    Complete  in 

two  voluiies,  paper  cover.     Price  One  Cellar  ;  or 

bound  in  tljth  for  $1.25. 
The    Laivyer's    Story.     Two  volumes,  paper 

cover.     Price  $1.00  ;  or  bound  in  cloth  for  $1.26. 
§*rtaro«     A  Tale  of  Norway.   Highly  recom 

mended  b  r  Washington  Irving.    Complete  in  two  vol- 
e,  paj  yc  cover.     Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth,  for$l  25. 


C.  .V.    PETERSON'S    WTORKS. 

The  Old    Stone  Mansion.     Complete  in   two 

vols.,  paper.  Price$1.00;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
Kate  Aylesford.  A  Love  Story.  Two  vols. 

paper     Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Cruising  in  the  Last    War.     Bv  Charles  J. 

Peterson.  Complete  in  one  volume,  rtice  50  cents. 
The  Valley  Farm  ;  or,  The  Autobiography  of  an 

Orphan.  A  Companion  to  Jane  Eyre.  Price  25  cents. 
Grace  Dudley;  or,  Arnold  at  Saratoga.  25  cents. 
Mabel;  or,  Darkness  and  Dawn.  Two  vols.,  payer 

cover.     Price  $1.00.  ;  or  in  cloth.  $1.25.     (In  Press.) 


CHARLES    LEVER'S   WORKS. 

All  nf.atly  done  up  in  paper  covers. 

Charles  O'Malley, Frict  60  <*&* 

Harry    Lorrequer, 80  *• 

Horace    Templeton, 60  * 

Tom   Burke  of  Ours, CO  • 

Arthur   O'Leary, 60  " 

Jack.  Hinton,  the  Guardsman,.     CO  " 

The  Knight  of  Gwynne, CO  * 

Kate    O'Donoghue, CO  *• 

Con  Cregan,  the  Irish  Gil  Bias,    GO  " 

Davenport  Dunn, 60  ' 

A  complete  set  of  the  above  will  be  sold,  or  Mat  + 
any  one,  to  any  place,  free  of  postage,  for  $4.00, 

LIBRARY     EDITION. 

THIS  EDITION  is  complete  in  FOUR  large  octavm 
volumes,  containing  Charles  O'Malley,  Harry  Lorr*. 
quer,  Horace  Templeton,  Tom  Burke  of  Ours,  Arthmi 
O'Leary,  Jack  Hinton  the  Guardsmen.  The  Knight  o/ 
Gwynue,  Kate  O'Donoghue,  etc.,  handsomely  printed, 
and  bound  in  various  styles,  as  follows : 

Price  of  a  set  in  Black  cloth, $6.00 

"        Scarlet  cloth, 6.58 

"  "        Law  Library  sheep, 7.00 

"  "        Half  Calf, 9.00 

"            "        Half  Calf,  marbled  edges,Fr*nci.,10  00 
"  "        Half  Calf,  antique 1208 

FINER    EDITIONS, 
diaries  O'Malley,  fine  ed .,  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50 

«  »          Half  calf  2.08 

Harry  Lorrequer,  fine  ed.,  one  vol.,  cloth,  1.50 

"  "  Half  calf, 2.00 

;    Jack  Hinton,  fine  edition,  one  vol.,  cloth,...  1.00 

"  "  Half  calf, 2.00 

\    Davenport  Dunn,  fine  ed.,  one  vol.,  cioth,.    1.60 

«  "        Half  calf 10» 

Valentine  Vox,  fine  edition,  one  vol,  cloth,..  1.90 

«  •*        Half  calf, 2.00 

•  «  "        cheap  edition,  paper  rover      60 

Ten  Thousand  a  Year,  fine  ed.,  1  vol. , cloth,  1  60 

«  "        Half  calf, 2.00 

««  «        cheap  edition,  paper  cover,  l.Oi 

Diary  of  a  Medical  Student.     By  S.  G. 
Warren,  author  "Ten  Thousand  a  Year."  1  voL    64 

MISS    PARDOE'S    "WORKS. 
Confessions    of   a    Pretty    Wou*an.      By 

Miss  Pardoe.     Complete  in  one  large  octavo  volant* 

Price  Fifty  cents. 
The  .Tea-Ions  Wife.    By  Miss  Pardoe.    Complete 

in  one  large  octavo  volume.     Price  Fifty  cents. 
The    Wife's    Trials.    By  Miss  Pardoe.      Com 

plete  in  one  large  octavo  volume.  Price  Fifty  cents. 
The  Rival  Beauties.  By  Miss  Pardoe.  Conv 

plete  in  one  large  octavo  volume.  Price  Fifty  cents. 
Romance  of  the  Harem.  By  Miss  Pardoo. 

Complete  in  one  large  octavo  vol.  Price  Fifty  cento. 
Miss  Pardoe  Vs  Complete  Works.  TM» 

comprises   the  whole  of  the  above  Five  works,  and 

o.re  bcund  in  cloth,  gilt,  in  one  large  octavo  volueM. 

Price  $2.50. 
The  Adopted  Heir.    By  Miss  Pardoe.    Two  yoU. 

paper.     Price  $1.00  ;   or  in  cloth,  $1.25. 

GEORGE    SAND'S    \VORKS. 

Consiielo.  By  George  Sand.  Translated  from  th« 
French,  by  Fayette  Robinson.  Complete  and  una 
bridged.  One  volume.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

Countess  of  Rudolstadt.  The  Sequel  to  "  COB 
suelo."  Translated  from  the  original  French.  C«m 
plete  and  unabridged  edition.  Oue  vol  60  cents. 

Indiana.  By  author  of  "Consuelo, "  «»o.  A  very 
bewitching  and  interesting  work.  Two  vols.,  papef 
cover.  Price  $1.00 ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.25 

First  and  True  Love.  By  author  of  "Consi 
elo,"  "  Indiana,"  etc.  Illustrated.  Price  50 cents. 

The  Corsair.      A  Venetian  Tale.     Price  22  cent*. 


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PUBLICATIONS. 


COOK    BOOKS. 

F»«.er*on«'  New  Cook  I'^oK  ;  or,  Useful  Re- 
oeipts  for  the  Housewife  tad  the  nninitiated.  Fall 
of  valuable  receipts,  all  original  aud  lever  before 
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va.uable  and  of  daily  use.  Complete  in  one  large 
volume,  cloth.  Price  $1.25. 

m*»  Leslie's  Xe  w  Cookery  Book.  Being  th« 
largest,  beat,  a.id  most  complete  Cook  Book  ever  got 
up  by  Miss  Leslie.  Now  first  published.  One  vol- 
nrae,  bound.  Price  $1.25. 

VTIddifleld's  Xew  Cook  Book,  or,  Practical 
Receipts  for  the  Housewife.  One  volume,  cloth.  Price 
One  Dollar. 

Mrs.  Hale's  New  Cook  Book.  By  Mrs.  Sarah 
J.  Hale.  One  volume,  bound.  Price  One  Dollar. 

Bliss  Leslie's  New  Receipts  for  Cooking. 
Complete  in  on«  volume,  bound.  Price  Cue  Dollar. 

MRS*  HALE'S   RECEIPTS. 
Mrs.    Hale'g    Receipts    for   Hie    Million. 

Continuing  Four  Thousand  Five  Hundred  and  Forty- 
five  Receipts,  Facts,  Directions,  and  Knowledge  for 
All,  in  the  Useful,  Ornamental,  aud  Domestic  Arts. 
B«og  a  complete  Family  Directory  and  Household 
Guide  for  the  Million.  By  Mrs.  Sarah  J.  Hale.  One 
volume,  800  pa[[es,  strongly  bound.  Price,  $1.25. 

FRANCATELLI'S  FRENCH  COOK. 
Vrancatelli's  Celebrated  French  Cook 
Book.  The  Modern  Cook.  A  Practical 
Guide  to  the  Culinary  Art,  in  all  its  branches  ;  com 
prising,  in  addition  to  English  Cookery,  the  most 
approved  aud  recherche  systems  of  French,  Italian 
and  Germau  Cookery  ;  adapted  as  well  for  t lie  largest 
establishments,  as  for  the  use  of  private  families. 
By  CHARLES  ELME  FRANCATELLI,  pupil  tc  the 
celebrated  CARKME,  and  late  Maltre-d'H6tel  and 
Chief  Cook  to  her  Majesty,  the  Queen  of  England. 
With  Sixty-Two  Illustrations  of  various  dishes.  Rc- 
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O.  P.  11.  JAMES'  NEW  BOOKS, 
ffhe  Cavalier.     An  Historical  Romance.     With  a 

steel  portrait  of  the  author.     Two  vols.,  paper  cover. 

Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  $1.25. 
Lord   Montagu's   Page.     Two  volumes,  paper 

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The  Man  In  Black.    Price  30  cents. 
Arrah  Neil.    A  Novel.    Price  60  couU. 
Mary  of  Burgundy.    Price  50  cent*. 
Eva  St.  Cialr }  and  other  Tale*.    Price  26  eenta. 

"WORKS  BY  THE  BEST  AUTHORS. 
TUe  Quaker  Soldier;  or,  The  British  in 

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Cwrrer  Lyl«  ;  or,  The  Autobiography  of 

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Life  and  Beauties  of  Fanny  Fern.     Twa 

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The  Roman  Traitor.    By  H.  W.  Herbert    Tw» 

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WORK-TABLE,  EMBROIDERY,  etc. 
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cloth.    Price  $1.25. 

J.   F.    SMITH'S    BEST    -WORKS. 

The  Usurer's  Victim.    Complete  in  one  large 

volume.    Price  60  cents. 
Adelaide  Waldegrave  ;    or,  The  Trials  of  a 

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HUMOROUS  ILLUSTRATED  WORKS. 

Memoirs  of  Vidocq,  Principal  Ageat  of  the 
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Major  Jones'  Courtship  and  Travels* 
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High  Life  in  New  York.  By  Jonathan  Slick. 
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Major  Jones'  Scenes  ill  Georgia.  Fnll  of 
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Judge  Haliburton's  Yankee  Stories. 
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Simon  Suggs'  Adventures  and  Travels 
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Humors  of  Falconbridge.  Two  vols.,  paper 
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Piney  Woods  Tavern;  or,  Sam  Slick  in 
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Sam  Slick,  the  Clockmaker.  By  Jndg«i 
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The  Swamp  Doctor's  Adventures  in 
the  South-West.  Containing  the  whole  of  th« 
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and  Far-Westeru  Scenes  ;  in  a  Series  of  Forty-Tw« 
Humorous  Southern  and  Western  Sketches,  descrip 
tive  of  Incident  and  Character.  With  14  Illustration* 
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Major  Thorpe's  Scenes  In  Arkausaw 
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tucky,"  aad  "  Bob  Herring,  th»  Arkansas  Beal 
Hunter,"  t»  which  is  added  the  "  Dran»  in  Poker 
ville,"  "  A  Night  in  a  Swamp,"  and  ottsr  Stories. 
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The  Big  Bear's  Adventures  and  Trav 
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American  Joe  Miller.  With  100  Illustration* 
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EUGENE    SUE'S    GREAT    NOVELS. 

Illustrated  Wandering  Jew.  With  Eighty 
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Mysteries  of  Paris;  and  Gerolstein,  ;h* 
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Martin  the  Foundling.  Beautifully  Illustra 
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First  Love.    A  Story  of  the  Heart.     Price  25  oen'* 

Woman's  Love.    Illustrated.    Price  25  cents 

The  Man-of-War's-Man.    One  vol.     25  cents. 

The  Female   Bluebeard.     One  vol.     25c«nts. 

Raoul  de  Surville.    One  volume.    Price  25  cts. 

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Thankfulness    and    Character.     Two  Dis. 

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CHARLES  DICKENS'  WORKS, 

Xwenty-eigiit    JL>il±erent    Editions. 

'•        »l  *        !!•••  

"  PETERSONS'  "  are  the  only  complete  and  uniform  editions  of  Charles  Dickens'  Works  ever  published  injh« 
world;  they  are  printed  from  the  original  London  Editions,  and  are  the  only  editions  published  in  this  country.  No 
library,  either  public  or  private,  can  be  complete  without  having  in  it  a  complete  set  of  the  works  of  this,  the  greatest 
of  all  living  authors.  Every  family  should  possess  a  set  of  one  of  the  following  editions. 

DUODECIMO    ILLUSTRATED    EDITION.      IN    3O    VOLUMES. 

This  Edition  in  Duodecimo  form  is  beautifully  Illustrated  with  near  Six  Hundred  Steel  and  Wood  Illustrations, 
from  designs  by  Cruikshank,  Phiz,  Leech,  Browne,  JIaclise,  McLeuau,  etc.,  illustrative  of  the  best  scenes  in  eac*x  work, 
making  it  the  most  heautiful  and  perfect  edition  in  the  world.  The  works  are  issued  as  follows : 


Great  Expectations.  One  vol.,  cloth,. Price  $1.50 

Lamplighter's  Story.     One  vol.,  cloth, 1.50 

Pickwick  Papers.    Two  vols.,  cloth, 2.50 

A  Tale  of  Two  Cities.    Two  vols.,  cloth,...  2.50 

Nicholas  Nickleby.    Two  vols.,  cloth, 2.50 

David   Copper  field.     Two  vols.,  cloth, 2.50 

Oliver  Twist.    Two  volumes,  cloth, 250 

Christmas  Stories.    Two  volumes,  cloth,...  2.50 
Bleak  House.    Two  volumes,  cloth, 2.50 

Price  of  a  set,  in  Thirty  volnmes,  bound  in 

"         Black  cloth,  gilt  backs $37  50 

"  "        Full  Law  Library  style, 47.50 


Little  Dorrit.     Two  volumes,  cloth 2.50 

Dombey  ami  Soil.     Two  volumes,  cloth, 2.50 

Sketches  by   "  Boz."     Two  volumes,  cloth,  2.50 

Barnaby  Rudge.     Two  volumes,  cloth,.. 2.50 

Martin.  Chu/.zlewit.    Two  vols.,  cloth, 2.50 

Old  Curiosity   Shop.    Two  vols.,  cloth, 2.50 

Dickens'  IVew  Stories.     One  vol.,  cloth,....  1.25 
Message  from  Sea.     One  vol.,  cloth, 1.25 

Price  of  a  set,  in  Half  calf,  antique, $75.00 

Half  calf,  full  gilt  back, 75.00 

"  "        Full  calf,  antique, 90.00 

"  "         Full  calf,  gilt  edges,  backs,  etc 90.00 


PEOPLE'S    DUODECIMO    EDITION.      IN    17    VOLUMES. 

This  Duodecimo  edition  is  complete  in  Seventeen  volumes,  of  near  One  Thousand  pages  each,  with  two  illustrations  to 
each  volume,  and  contains  all  the  redding  matter  that  is  in  the  Illustrated  Edition.  The  volumes  are  sold  separately, 
yrice  One  Dollar  and  Fifty  cents  each,  bound  in  cloth  ;  or  a  complete  set  for  Twenty-Five  Dollars.  They  are  as  follows: 


Great  Expectations. 
Lamplighter's  Story. 
A  Tale  of  Two  Cities. 
Iiittle  Dorrit. 
Pickwick   Papers. 
Barnaby  Rudge. 

Price  of  a  set,  in  Black  cloth,  in  17  volumes, $25.00     |     Price  of  a  set,  in  Half  calf,  antique $42.0< 

Full  Law  Library  style, 3D  00     I  "         Half  calf,  full  gilt  backs,  etc., 42.00 


Old   Curiosity   Shop. 
Bleak  House. 
David  Copperfteld. 
Dombey  and  Son. 
Nicholas  Nickleby. 
Martin  Chuzzlewit. 


Christmas  Stories. 
Sketches  by  "  Boz." 
Dickens'  New  Stories. 
Oliver  Twist. 
Message  from  Sea. 


Half  calf,  or  half  Turkey, *..  34.00 

Half  calf,  marbled  edges,  French,.  36.00 


Full  calf,  antique, .00.00 

Full  calf,  gilt  edges,  backs,  etc,....  50.00 


ILLUSTRATED    OCTAVO    EDITION.     IN    17  VOLUMES. 

THIS  EDITION  IS  IN  SEVENTEEN  VOLUMES,  octavo,  and  is  printed  on  very  thick  and  fine  white  paper,  and  is  pro 
fusely  illustrated  with  all  the  original  Illustrations  by  Cruikshank,  Alfred  Crowquill.  Phiz,  etc.,  from  the  original 
London  editions,  on  copper,  steel,  and  wood,  as  well  as  by  original  illustrations  by  JOHN  MCLENAS,  New  York.  Each 
volume  contains  a  novel  complete,  and  may  be  had  in  complete  sets,  beautifully  bound  in  cloth,  for  Twenty-Five  Dollars  a 
ret ;  or  any  volume  will  be  sold  separately,  at  One  Dollar  and  Fifty  cents  each.  The  following  are  their  respective  ua«es : 


Great  Expectations 
Lamplighter's  Story. 
A  Tale  cf  Two  Cities. 
Little  Dorrit. 
Pickwick  Papers. 
Barnaby  Rndge. 

Frice  of  a  .=•,  in  Black  cloth,  in  17  volumes, $25  00 

"        Full  Law  Library  style, 34.00 

"        Half  calf,  or  Half  Turkey, 33.00 


Old  Curlsosity   Shop. 
Bleak  House. 
David  Copperfield. 
Dombey  and  Son. 
Nicholas  Nickleby. 
Martin  Chuzzlcwit. 


Christmas  Stories. 
Sketches  by  "  Boz.'» 
Oliver  Twist. 
Dickens'  New  Stories. 
American  Notes,  etc. 


Price  of  a  set,  in  Half  calf,  marbled  edges, $40.00 

"         Half  calf,  antique, 50.00 

"         Half  calf,  full  gilt  backs,  etc., 50  00 


LIBRARY    OCTAVO    EDITION.    IN    7    VOLUMES. 

This  Edition  is  complete  in  SEVEN  very  large  octavo  volumes,  with  a  Portrait  on  steel  of  Charles   Dickens,  containing 
the  whole  of  all  of  the  above  works  by  Charles  Dickens,  illustrated,  and  bound  in  various  styles. 

Price  of  a  set,  in  Half  calf,  marbled  edges,  French,. ..$17.00 

Half  calf,  antique 21.00 

Half  calf,  lull  gilt  backs,  etc. 21.00 


trice  of  a  set,  in  Black  Cloth,  in  seven  volumes,  ...$10  50 

Scarlet  cloth,  extra 11.50 

Law  Library  style 13.00 

Half  Turkey,  or"  half  calf 15.00 


CHEAP    EDITION,    PAPER    COVER.    IN    22     VOLUMES. 

This  edition  isjmblished  complete  in  Twenty-two  octavo  volumes,  in  paper  cover,  as  follows.  Price  Fifty  cents  a  volume. 

Lamplighter's  Story. 
David  Copperfield. 
Dombey  and  Son. 
Holiday  Stories. 
Nicholas   Nickleby. 
Martin  Chnzzlewlt. 

Bleak  House.  Pic-Nic  Papers 

*&•  Copies  of  any  work,  in  cloth,  or  in  paper  cover,  or  any  set  of  either  of  the  Twenty-Eight  Editions,  in  any  of  th« 
Tarious  styles  of  bindings,  of  Charles  Dickens'  Works,  will  be  sent  to  any  person,  to  any  part  of  the  United  States,  free 
If  postage  nr  any  ither  expense,  on  their  remitting  the  price  of  the  edition  tliey  may  wish,  to  the  publishers,  in  a  letter. 
Published  and  for  sale  by  T.  B.  PETERSOIV  &  BROTHERS, 


Great  Expectations. 
A  Tale  of  Two  Cities. 
Pickwick  Papers. 
New  Years'  Stories. 
Barnaby  Rudge. 
Old  Curiosity  Shop. 
Little  Dorrit. 


Message  from  the  Sea. 
Christmas   Stories. 
Dickens'   Short  Stories. 
Sketches   by  "Boz." 
Dickens'  New  Stories. 
American    Notes. 
Oliver  Twist. 


IS  THE  TIME  TO  GET  UP  CLUBS 


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This  popular  mnntlily  Aligazino  contains  nearly  1000  pages;  from  2o  to  30  steel  plates;  and  about  800  Wood  Engravicgi 
•M  nil  thjs  fur  only  l'V\0  DOLLAH3  A  VEAK.  ThU  is  more,  proportionately,  than  any  magazine  ever-  gave  —  lieuco  '-Petcrsc 
i»  wiqkhaticftUy 

CRT  11   p          Aft    »     ^    A    ^  1  '&1  :R?          IE9  .f"ll   O         "I"  11  V9         &f  A  IfKfi  *•  *% 

THE    MAGAZINE    FOR    THE    TIMES, 

Trm  stories  in  "Peterson"  aro  co/ic«d"d  to  bo  We  tost  pulilisherl  anyw'ic.rc.  Tlie  editors  are  Mrs.  *nn  S.  Stephens,  author 
"Mary  Derwftit.'  '-Kaslii.  11  and  Faini.ie."  and  Charles  J.  !'•  ter«>n.  until  -r'of  "  Kat<-  Aylesfor  i,"  "The  Valley  Farm,"  etc.,  etc.:  n 
they  are  assisted  I  y  Mis.  lieiiin  >n.  Frank  l.ee  Ketieilict.  by  the  author  of  ">u^y  l,s  Diary  "  by  T.  S.  Arthur  E.  L.  Chandler  Moult. 
Meliitable  Hulyok'.-,  Viv>;  nia  F.  'I'own.-cnrl,  Carry  S  an  ey,  Caroline  E.  Fairriold.  Ellen  Ashtnn,  F.  L.  Jlace,  K.  Dewees,  A.  \,.  (itii.  a 
nil  the  most  i'c.pu!nr  f  .  nvil'i  "'ritcri  of  Aini-nVn.  In  addition  to  the  usual  number  of  stories,  there  will  bo  given  in  1802,  Foi 
Original  HIIU  Copy-rigtited  Novelets,  viz: 

THE  JACOBITE'S  DAUGHTER;  a  Tale  of  the  '45, 

BY  MRS.  AHN  S.  STEPHENS. 

AMY  WINTHROP'S  ENGAGEMENT;  a  Tale  of  to-  da: 

BY  CARRY  STANLEY. 

TEE  MURRAYS  of  MURRAY  HOUSE;  a  Tale  of  '7< 

BY  CHARLES  J.  PETERSON. 

GETTING  INTO  SOCIETY;  a  Tale  of  to-da^ 


Thee?,  and  other  writers,  contribute  exclusively  to  "  Peterson.',    Morality  and  Tirtue  are  always  inculcated.    Its 


is  the  ONLY  MAGAZINE  whose  Fashion  Plates  can  be  relied 


Knch  number  contains  n.  Fashion  Plate,  engraved  on  steel,  end  colored:  also,  a  dozen  or  moro  New  Styles,  engraved  on  wood;  n 
a  Pattern,  from  which  a  l)iv*s  Mam  ilia,  or  (  'hild'.s  Coftunie  c.m  bo  cut,  without  the  uid  of  a  mantua-inaker  —  BO  that  each  Number. 
this  w  y,  will  SAVE  A  YEAR'S  SUBSCRIPTION.  The  I'ari*,  Ixinilon,  I'liilad  'Iphia  and  New  York  Fashions  aro  described,  at  leng 
each  month.  1'utterns  of  Caps,  Bonnets,  Head  Dresses,  &.C.,  given  in  great  profusion.  Its 

SUPEEB  MEZZOTINTS  &  OTHER  STEEL  ENGRAVING 

Ar  i  by  the,  first  Artists,  and  one  at  least,  is  given  in  every  number.     Its 


The  Work-Tsble-Department  of  this  Magazine  IS  "WHOLLY  UNRIVALLED.  It  in  edited  by  Mrs.  Jane  Weaver.  •* 
furnishes,  for  each  nuinli.-r.  beautiful  Original  I'artenis.  Every  Number  cot»t»iiH  a  do/.,  n  i.r  more  patterns  in  every  variety  of  Fa 
work;  Crochet,  Kmb-oidery.  Knitting.  Bead  work.  Shell-work.  Uair-wnjk.  Wax  Flowers.  Mained  Glass,  Leaihcr-woik,  l;i:i]ting.  I'll. 
praphs,  Ac.,  with  full  descriptions.  Every  Number  will  cont»in  a  UPERB  COLORED  PATTERN  for  :-IItPE 
PURSE,  CHAIR  SEA.T,  HANDKERCHIEF,  EMBROIDERY,  COLLAR  AND  CUFF,  or  some  ot 
Twml.  "r  ornaiatiual  article:  and  each  ol  tlieso  would  Cust,  at  a  retail  Btmv,  k'ifty  cenu.  These  can  be  had  in  no  other  Ameri 
itiaycuine. 

BECEIPIS  FOR  THE  TABLE,  TOILETTE,  SfCK  ROOM,  &C., 

•Will  be  pivrn  in  every  Nnmb.-r.       4W  A  PIECE  OF  NEW   &  FASHIONABLE  MUSIC  WILT,  APFiJj 
EACH  ltLO.&  TJEI.     Also,  ai'licles  i/n  tUe  i'lower  uardeii,  ami  Horticulture  gi-iiorally  :  aiid  Umts  011  all  matters  interesting  to  Lai. 


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Three  Copies  for  One  year, 
Five  Copies  for  One  year, 


-ALWAYS  IN  ADVANCE. 


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-  5.CO 

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Eight  Copies  for  One  year,       -  $10. 
Twelve  Copies  for  One  year,  -    15. CX 
Sixteen  Copies  for  One  year,  -    20.0< 


PREMIUMS  FOR  GETTING  UP  CLUBS  !—  Three,  Five,  Eight,  or  more  copies,  make  a  Club.  To  every  ]>• 
getting  up  a  Club,  of  Tlnee,  1-ive,  Eight,  or  'j'welve  copies,  an  extra  copy  of  tlio  Magazine  for  1802  will  be  given.  ]f  jirefe 
however,  we  will  send  as  a  I'remium.  (instead  of  tho  extra  copy.)  an  illustrated  L\f)\  'S  AU'.U  *f,  handsomely  b.mnd  in  gilt,  or 
Magnificent  Me/.zotint  f  -r  training,  ft  •/.>.•  -7  inches  by  20—  "  Bunyau's  ^v  ite  Int.  reeding  for  his  Release  from  Prison."  To  every 
getting  up  a  Club  of  Sixteen,  two  extra  copies  of  the  Magazine,  or  of  either  of  tho  other  1'reiniunis  will  be  sent. 


T 


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